Plum Blossoms of a Past Winter
by Waffles Risa
Summary: When Ichigo and Rukia are spun decades into the past thanks to one of Urahara's experiments, how will they face the people that are close to them, but who suddenly seem like strangers? And along the way, they may discover long-hidden feelings for the person nearest to them... Set a year after the date of Rukia's adoption. Features Kaien, Byakuya, Ukitake, Captain!Isshin. IchiRuki.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Bleach fanfiction, and my first fanfiction in any category for a year. The reason I decided to pick up my proverbial pen again after a year's hiatus from fanfictioning is that – one, exams are officially over, and two, I am shipping Ichigo and Rukia so hard after clearing the entirety of Bleach manga in six days that I had to write something.**

**So this fic is going to be set predominantly 45 years before canon, in that period of time with Byakuya and Hisana and Kaien and Isshin all mixed up in a melting pot of angst bunnies and coincidences. This will be fun :)**

**I also don't do smut or lemon or any crap even remotely resembling that stuff. Note the rating. K+.**

**So, here goes! Hope you like it!**

* * *

That particular year, the first plum blossom sits quietly in its silvery-pink beauty on the highest branch of a tree in the inner garden of the Kuchiki household. Its delicate petals quiver in the passing of a gentle wind as the flower sits, the first crowning jewel of that winter's vibrant display. A few days later, the courtyard would be shimmering with a thousand blossoms more.

But for now, the single flower rests still and alone, looking down on the wooden floors, and the man who sits, still and alone, on the patio edge.

He sits as a noble should, his back straight and head level, his shihakusho immaculate, and a haori adorned with a "六" flowing past his broad shoulders to spread like a robe around him. Multiple kenseikan pull his dark hair back from the strong lines of his face, set in an unreadable expression. Only a gleam and a softening of his charcoal grey eyes is any indication of his true thoughts.

In the halls of the house, servants skirt around the garden carefully, footsteps reverently silent to avoid disturbing Kuchiki Byakuya.

It has been two years since her death.

He would have likely to have remained in this position for the next few hours if not for the distant opening of the double front doors of the mansion, and the approach of a familiar reiatsu signature.

Byakuya rises gracefully, hands smoothing down his haori as he tears his eyes from the sight of the first plum blossom. His feet make no noise on the wood-paneled ground as he begins to stride towards the end of the corridor to meet his visitor.

A swish of silver-white hair announces the arrival of the taichou of the Thirteenth Division, Ukitake Juushiro, who turns the corner to face Byakuya with a smile of greeting.

"Kuchiki-taichou." The wording is formal, hiding an underlying friendliness.

Byakuya inclines his head. "Thank you for meeting me, Ukitake-taichou. Forgive me if I've taken up your time."

Ukitake laughs lightly as Byakuya leads the way to two seats overlooking the garden. "Not at all, not at all." He waves his hand in dismissal as he sits himself down easily.

Byakuya also sits, albeit more formally, and inquires stiffly by way of initiating conversation, "How has your health been lately? I trust that you are well enough to be making trips outside your division?"

"I've been surprisingly well these past few weeks." Ukitake lifts his cup of tea with an unhealthily thin hand and takes a small sip. "But I assume you wanted to hear about Rukia's progress?"

"Has she been performing her duties to a satisfactory degree?"

Ukitake smiles knowingly. "That and more. She has shown an exemplary zeal for her responsibilities this past year since her induction into my division. Granted, she found it difficult initially to bond with her fellow teammates, but now all issues are resolved. You have heard of her close friendship with our fukutaichou Shiba Kaien?"

Byakuya's eyebrow twitches. "Yes," he says shortly.

Ukitake shows a hint of pleased pride. "Her special training sessions with Kaien have yielded spectacular results due to her hard work; she has gained both the name of her zanpakuto and it's shikai form."

"Although I am well aware she has yet to learn its shikai manifestation powers," Byakuya cuts in.

A tiny frown appears on Ukitake's face, although his eyes remain kind and open. "I would be proud of her progress. Shikai powers will come in time –"

CRACK.

The sound splits the peace of the afternoon air as one of the plum trees in the inner courtyard falls to the ground with a resounding crash.

Both captains snap their heads towards the noise and are on their feet before the first falling branches touch the floor. "What –"

Ukitake is interrupted by the sudden explosion of condensed reiatsu that blasts across them like a torrent of wind, whipping his white hair back from his startled face as a whirling chasm springs into existence where the splintered trunk of the tree used to stand.

The reiatsu flare continues past them and flashes through half of Seireitei.

The two captains stand, tense and ready for what approaches through the reiatsu anomaly.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA K)

Another place, another time.

A peculiar type of silence echoes in the liquid darkness of an expansive laboratory in the twelfth division headquarters. Four figures surround a counter that is a mess of blinking lights and flashing signs. A tall, slouching man sporting a striped white and green hat emits a sort of quiet that is part carefree and part dangerous, mouth twitching as if he is about to break into laughter and eyes deadly serious. Next to him, a man – if you could call him one – waves his hands excitedly in front of his horned black and white visage in barely withheld scientific glee.

Beside the two scientists, a petite girl garbed in a black shihakusho with a wooden crest marking her as a fukutaichou on her shoulder shifts uneasily, an expression of barely concealed wonder dawning on her sharp face. She lifts a hand encased in a slender white glove from wrist to elbow and points at the machine, managing to reduce the unease in her voice to a minimum.

"With all due respect, Mayuri-taichou, Urahara-san, do…do you realise the ramifications that such an invention would have on both the human world and Soul Society should it actually…work?" Rukia says, leveling a controlled look at the two men.

Mayuri giggles perversely, clapping his hands together and scarcely restraining himself from dancing on the spot. "It _does_ work, my darling, it is as close to perfection as I can imagine." His feet make an unsettling patter on the dirty white tiles of the floor as he shifts in his excitement.

Only one of the four people grouped there seems completely unaware of the cosmic significance of said machine, confusion bunching his eyebrows even closer together than their usual scowl.

"Look, all I heard was scientific yadadada…machine. You made a…what, exactly, Urahara-san?" Ichigo ventures, a hand reaching up to scratch the back of his orange-topped head, his taichou-haori flapping accidentally into Rukia's face.

The fact that this illicits an annoyed huff from Rukia and her stepping away from the creepy taichou of the twelfth division is, of course, _entirely_ coincidental. It follows naturally that Ichigo's immediate shift to place himself between his fukutaichou and Mayuri is also coincidental and nothing to do with the fact that some deep part of Ichigo's soul had flinched the moment the words "my darling" slipped out of that man's mouth.

Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, Zangetsu snickers.

Ichigo pointedly ignores this. He also ignores Rukia's glare.

Urahara straightens from his slouch, adjusting his hat so it shadows part of one eye. He breaks out in a grin. "Ah, my apologies. I should have known that 'Reiryoku-powered Spacetime-independent Soul Transporter v.2.5' would have had some trouble gaining your understanding, Kurosaki-taichou. My fault for overestimating your education, gomen, gomen."

If reiatsu could be sharpened by glares alone, a certain sandal-footed man would be quite dead there and then.

Unfazed by this, Urahara continues conversationally, "This console here is, quite simply, capable of taking souls backwards in time." Beside him, Mayuri nods emphatically.

Rukia sighs resignedly and waits three seconds for this information to process through Ichigo's brain before surreptitiously plugging her ears.

Not a moment too soon.

"YOU WHAT!? YOU MADE A – A TIME MACHINE!"

Rukia takes her fingers out of her ears and unceremoniously whacks her small but surprisingly strong hand against the back of Ichigo's neck (the highest part of him she can reach standing on her tiptoes), admonishing in a whiplike tone, "That was too loud, bakamono!"

Ichigo cringes at the flare of pain, looking sheepish for a brief moment.

Urahara sniggers, knowing as well as anybody in the Gotei 14 that no one has the ability to shut the taichou of the new fourteenth division up as fast as its fukutaichou.

A few seconds later, the shock has drained away from Ichigo's face, leaving an uncharacteristically dark expression. A hint of anger creeps into his expression as he places his next words carefully. "Rukia's right, then. If it does work, the machine would cause frankly catastrophic consequences if it gets into the wrong hands. If you knew of the danger, you'd better have a blasted good reason for doing this. Mayuri. Urahara."

The reiatsu in the cavernous laboratory suddenly sharpens, making the shadows leap and flicker in the suddenly unstable light. Mayuri actually shifts backwards a fraction of an inch, but Urahara merely grins again and makes a placating gesture.

"Yare yare, no need to get violent, Kurosaki-taichou." Urahara tilts his head casually. "Would you calm down if I told you that it is an remnant, if you will, of the Winter War?"

The overwhelming pressure of the reiatsu lifts slightly at this, and almost completely when a small hand grips Ichigo's wrist. Ichigo looks down to see Rukia's intense violet eyes focused on Urahara, restraining fingers gentle on his forearm.

"How?" Ichigo asks shortly, brow furrowed.

Mayuri's explaining voice cuts in, slick with smugness. "The prototype was developed jointly by Urahara-san and I as a contingency plan in the event that all was lost. If Aizen was to demolish a certain proportion of our forces and Seireitei was judged to be beyond any possibility of salvation, a small number of elite shinigami, most likely the remaining taichou and fukutaichou, would use the device to pass backwards in time. They would then attempt to disrupt Aizen's plot before it happened, hence rendering the entire war _tabula rasa_, if you would excuse my Latin."

A nod from Ichigo indicates his understanding, and his mouth is halfway open to reply when Rukia gets there first. "Fine. So I assume version 1.0 was completed during the months of the war. Why then, if you knew the dangers of continuing this research, is there a version 2.5 in front of us?" There is something dangerous in her eyes now, and her gloved hand rests lightly on the hilt of Sode no Shirayuki.

Mayuri laughs, an unsettling sound ringing with false earnestness. "Would you accept the answer of insatiable scientific curiosity, Kuchiki-san?" He somehow lengthens out the syllables of her name, giving a simple title a sinister lilt.

A mere whisper of cloth.

Mayuri stares cross-eyed down the gleaming length of Zangetsu, following the blade down to Ichigo's deadly gaze. His brown eyes are not even angry, but rather empty of all emotion. Rukia is completely hidden behind the sleeve of his shihakusho.

A moment of silence.

"Don't you dare give me that crap." The statement stands still in the air.

Urahara chooses to step in before the situation gets messy. "It was deemed necessary that the research continued so the Gotei 13 – 14, now – could face all future threats with a master backup plan." At Ichigo's scathing look, the scientist ploughs on relentlessly before he has a chance to speak. "It was sanctioned by Yamamoto-soutaichou himself."

Ichigo holds Urahara's gaze for a moment longer, seeking the truth behind his words. Then with a metallic ring, he withdraws Zangetsu from Mayuri's throat and hefts the sword across his shoulder, simultaneously moving aside to allow Rukia back into the conversation. She gives him a sidelong look, obviously displeased at his overprotectiveness. He responds with a barely noticeable shrug, knowing that she would grill him over it later.

Fluidly stepping forward to take her place next to Ichigo, Rukia raises her chin and says, "What do you want with us?"

"Finally, to the point!" Urahara exclaims, striding towards the machine and flicking a long finger at the whirring dials and buttons. "The reason we requested you, Kurosaki-taichou, was because so far our tests have pointed towards one result – the machine needs a ridiculous amount of reirokyu to even induced it to twitch. You have the greatest reiatsu reserves compared to any shinigami of the Gotei in recorded history."

"You want me to _activate _the thing?" Ichigo exclaims.

"No, of course not~! But I am asking whether you might be willing to feed a gentle but continuous stream of your reiatsu into the machine, just so that we can get some preliminary readings."

"Give me a moment to consider." The statement is not a request, but something bordering on an order. Urahara nods graciously.

Turning to Rukia, Ichigo tilts his head, and they both retreat to the very edge between light and shadow in the laboratory.

"Well?" He says softly, locking eyes with her.

She shakes her head imperceptibly, elbow twitching momentarily as if about to reach out to touch his sleeve. "It's a bad idea, Ichigo. We don't know what exactly will happen. It's not worth the risk."

Ichigo takes a second to notice the way the corners of her eyes narrow whenever she's worried about him, but then leans closer to whisper a reply. "But Urahara's done a lot for us, and to be honest it looks like he only wants me to give a long, continuous reiatsu flow, not a sudden burst."

Rukia's lips press down into a thin line as she glowers at him. "For once, Ichigo," she hisses back, "stop being such a stubborn baka and listen to me. The machine could do anything – it could suck you in for all we know. And don't you _dare_ pull rank on me or I swear I'll kill you myself."

Instead of submitting to her superior reasoning, Ichigo puts on that infuriatingly self-assured grin, the one that sometimes makes her want to hit him and smile at him at the same time, and says, "It's okay, I think. We owe him, anyway." At her death glare, he relents and adds, "I'll tell him that this is the only time I'm helping, and then we wash our hands of this business, okay, fukutaichou?" The last word is teasing.

Rukia is distinctly unamused, but gives a short, sharp nod of assent. "Don't make me say 'I told you so'," she whispers.

And she follows him back into the pool of bleached-white light on the laboratory floor.

With the usual lack of pomp and tact, Ichigo shifts Zangetsu to a more comfortable position on his shoulder and announces loudly to the room at large, "Right, I'm in, but only this once. Show me where I point Zangetsu." Rukia rolls her eyes behind his back.

Mayuri scurries to the console and points at an empty circular space surrounded by a mass of elaborately twisted wires and parts.

Ichigo spares Rukia one final glance, and then levels Zangetsu at the deep pitch darkness of the circle, closing his eyes in preparation. Urahara and Mayuri step back. Rukia comes closer, as if her physical distance from him can somehow protect him from any danger.

Ichigo breathes. For a moment, hung in the balance between breath and no breath, when time seems to slide and slip between the edges of his consciousness and the tall towers of his inner world, he feels Zangetsu incline his head in acknowledgement. The next breath brings a tremor in his core, the stirring of a deep power flowing from his center and guided by the rough but sure hands of his blade. The reiatsu inside him is akin to a blue fire, curled edges licking the arches of his consciousness, liquid flames curving to his will.

Another breath brings a sudden rush of glorious clarity as the flow tumbles down his arms in flickers through his fingers, running unbroken into the hilt of Zangetsu and down the silver plane of the blade. The reiatsu reaches the very tip of burnished silver, and Ichigo snaps his eyes open, holding the writhing blue still.

Zangetsu gleams an understated cerulean.

At a nod from Urahara, who is focused on the quivering needles of the many dials on the console, Ichigo releases his breath slowly, calmly. The coiling reiatsu springs forward in a continuous stream into the darkness of the black circle, hitting a flat surface in empty space in the center of the machinery and disappearing into nothing.

Needles start shivering on dials.

Mayuri begins to smile, his teeth flashing white in the dark, and Urahara leans closer to the instruments. "Keep it up, taichou," Urahara says.

Ichigo focuses on keeping a steady flow of reiatsu, and behind him, Rukia watches, perched on the balls of her feet, ready for anything, everything.

Five minutes later, the first bead of sweat appears on Ichigo's brow, the only indication of the effort it costs him. His face remains calm and impassive. Urahara's voice abruptly slashes the silence, a hint of alarm colouring his tone. "Mayuri-san. Look at this." Mayuri accordingly turns, and he frowns at what he sees.

"What's wrong?" Rukia's voice is commanding.

"Nothing as of yet," Urahara quickly assures her, "it's just that the machine seems to lick up Kurosaki-taichou's reiatsu in ever increasing amounts, as if feeding it more makes it hungrier…"

Alarm flashes across Rukia's face. "Stop it, then."

Urahara is about to call a cease when a sudden grunt of pain snaps all three heads towards Ichigo's direction.

Zangetsu is shaking.

Ichigo's eyes are widening in a mixture of confusion and the beginnings of fear as he readjusts his grip on the hilt. His feet begin to slide forward.

Rukia snaps, "Stop now, Ichigo!" Her hand is on her zanpakuto.

"I'm trying," the reply comes through gritted teeth.

"Okay, okay, don't panic", Urahara sings, although his hands move faster over the controls, "Shutting it down."

The instant Mayuri and Urahara take their eyes off Ichigo to focus on the console, Ichigo emits a strange sound between a yelp and a choke, and is pulled bodily into the swallowing darkness of the circle.

The two scientists have no time to react. Rukia has no time to think. As the only one with her eyes fixed on Ichigo, and the only one close enough to act, she throws herself at him, fingers outstretched in a blind panic to latch onto his ankle. She must not let him go alone.

_Don't let go don't let go don't let go…_

The black rushes forward and engulfs her in the space of an eyeblink.

Urahara and Mayuri stare at the spot where the juushi-taichou and his fukutaichou were a second ago.

Urahara whirls and punches the wall viciously.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA K)

The grass in the inner garden of the Kuchiki manor is pressed flat by the roaring weight of the reiatsu portal.

Servants running to the scene of chaos are forced to their knees, some passing out from the unbelievable pressure. The two captains crouch slightly, hands dropping to the hilts of Senbonzakura and Sogyo no Kotowari.

"Back, all of you." Byakuya's order to his household is made in as even a voice as ever. He might as well be commenting on the weather.

Drawing Senbonzakura with a smooth ring of metal, he takes a slow, measured step toward the spinning darkness of the portal. Behind him, Ukitake whispers rapidly into his cupped hands and flings a hell butterfly into the air.

Then, with a crash almost louder than when the tree fell, a tall figure tumbles through the portal and splats face-first into the dirt ground.

"Chire, Senbonzak–"

"Wait!" Ukitake's command is sharp and insistent. His eyes are wide. Byakuya blinks once in surprise, but a second glance answers his question.

The young man sprawled ungracefully before them is wearing the shihakusho of a shinigami, his zanpakuto – the Kuchiki head spares a moment to wonder at its gigantic size – stuck upright in the ground beside him. But what is really unbelievable is the unmistakable white of a captain's haori – inscribed with a "十四".

_Fourteenth Division?_

The next shock comes as the man peels his face off the ground with a tentative "ow", spitting out a mouthful of red, and his face becomes visible.

This is time it is Ukitake who splutters, "Kaien-san!?"

He is unheeded by the young man, who attempts to push himself up onto his knees while snarling an entire chain of incomprehensible words.

Byakuya tightens his grip on his katana and says in a voice encased in ice, "Identify yourself. Who are you?"

But fate is not done laughing at them, for before the strange orange-haired man shows any sign of having heard, a second, far slighter figure appears through the endless darkness of the circular portal. But while the man came through straight on, she spins uncontrollably. As she exits the portal, her head ricochets off the edge of the singularity, snapping her neck back at an awkward angle.

She falls into a crumpled heap on the frozen grass.

Now both taichou are rendered completely speechless, for the girl in front of them, though with shorter hair than in their memory, is no other than Kuchiki Rukia.

Faced with the appearance of someone who is, and yet is not his adopted sister, Byakuya is stunned briefly.

The girl shifts on the ground, one gloved hand reaching out to the young man while the other goes to her temple. "Ichigo," she chokes. Her hand comes away from her forehead with crimson staining the pure white of her glove.

The man – Ichigo – scrambles towards her in alarm. "Rukia! Are you okay?" His eyes widen at the deep, streaming cut at her hairline. "Rukia!"

Her hand drops as she collapses, Ichigo barely reaching her in time to prevent her head hitting the ground. Ichigo snarls, zanpaktuo forgotten as he desperately presses his palm against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, cradling her close to his chest.

Scalp wounds bleed a lot.

In the following seconds of blind panic that threatens to overwhelm Ichigo's usually formidable defenses – _RukiaRukiaRukiaRukia_ – he notices the two figures standing close by.

"What are you STANDING there for!" He bellows at Byakuya. The noble flinches back at the sudden eye contact, Ichigo's brown eyes burning with fear and anger. "She needs Unohana here right now! You know I can't do healing kido at this level!"

Byakuya has barely any time to process that this conversation sounds like it is coming from a person of his personal acquaintance, not to mention from an non-existent Fourteenth Division before Ichigo's eyes stop flicking from between Ukitake and him and narrow instead.

When the young man next speaks, his voice is soft. "You – you don't wear kenseikan anymore, Byakuya…" He takes in the bare branches of the trees above him. "It's winter here…"

Understanding dawns on Ichigo's face, even as the two captains remain mystified and Ichigo hugs Rukia tighter to him.

"Oh no. We're back."

Byakuya reasserts himself and repeats coldly, "Who are you and what is your aim in intruding into my house?"

The portal behind the ryoka falters, and begins to shrink.

A chain of emotions flit across the young man's face, almost too fast to be seen. But Byakuya has seen it before, in those who have fought wars, or have had years upon years of battlefield experience. It is the thought process of a person in a commanding position in a dangerous situation and with subordinates in peril.

When Ichigo next speaks, it is in a tone of perfect self-control. "Ukitake-taichou. Heal her. Please. I beg of you. You don't know who I am, but you know that she is Kuchiki Rukia. Heal her." The steady pulse of red wells constantly between his cupped fingers at Rukia's forehead, dripping into a steadily growing pool of blood at her neck. She is turning paler now.

Byakuya feels Ukitake brush past him. A moment later, he drops the hand holding Senbonzakura at the ready, although he keeps the sword unsheathed. Trust Ukitake to be the sort of person to aid an injured ryoka without question. Byakuya tries to ignore the fact that this ryoka looks like the splitting image of his sister, and quells the irrational fear that rises in his heart as he sees her bleeding in front of him.

Ukitake gives the man who looks like his fukutaichou a quick, reassuring smile, and reaches out with gentle hands to cradle Rukia's head. Something about the honest concern in Ukitake's eyes and the blazing emotion in Ichigo's settle a pact between the two. The moment the glow of healing kido forms in Ukitake's hands, Ichigo spins on one heel towards the disappearing portal, one hand reaching out for Zangetsu.

Swinging the blade upwards in a lightning fast motion, Ichigo manages to snag the last disappearing dregs of the portal. There is no time for a slow consideration of what to do next. He uncaps the lid on his reiatsu reserves and pitches the entirety of what is left inside him into their only link to home.

If the blast of reiatsu upon their entrance was a gust of wind, this time the wave of pure, bottomless power is more like an unstoppable whirlwind. The servants that had not passed out yet slump senseless; the very trees creak and groan under the weight of the air; Byakuya and Ukitake gasp for breath before they manage to raise their levels to safety; Rukia cries out unconsciously. Then with a pop of air pressure, the reiatsu sharpens down the blade of Zangetsu as it leaps into the portal.

Suddenly all can breathe again.

Senbonzakura is up again in Byakuya's hands as he redefines this stranger's threat level. _What reiatsu…_

The chasm shudders, and halts its disappearance.

Ichigo bends forward and yells, "MAYURI! YOU BETTER BE THERE! MAYURI! CAN YOU HEAR ME!"

No answer, except for the distanced beeping of some machine.

Ichigo changes tack. "URAHARA! LIKE CRAP YOU ARE GOING TO LEAVE RUKIA AND ME HERE!"

At the mention of the name, Byakuya shunpo-s blindingly fast and rests the tip of Senbonzakura at Ichigo's neck. "What affiliation do you have with that traitor?" he asks.

Ichigo ignores him, flicking away the tip of the sword with a fingernail.

This time, a slightly guilty singsong voice answers. "Ah, Kurosaki-taichou. Good to hear you made it through. Is Kuchiki-fukutaichou alright?"

"No." Ichigo's voice is laced with poison.

A vague air of embarrassment. "How far back are you? Is that Kuchiki-taichou I hear?"

"Yes. A couple decades, by the look of it."

"Right, don't panic, Mayuri-san and I are working to stabilize the thing and get you back, please hold."

"DON'T YOU 'PLEASE HOLD' ME OLD MAN! I'm single-handedly supplying all the reiatsu powering this thing!" Seemingly to prove his point, Zangetsu trembles and the portal judders.

"Oh, so that's why the machine seems to be running even though we aren't feeding it anything…Mayuri-san, can you divert some auxiliary power from your other labs?"

Mayuri's slick, oily voice answers, "Yes. Allow me…yes…here…and there…auxiliary power supplied." Ichigo lowers Zangetsu, slumping slightly in tiredness.

Urahara takes over again. "It'll take us a few days to fix this, I'm afraid. Standby until then, the portal will appear wherever you are. Bye~!"

The portal decreases in size until it completely fades with a pop.

No matter how many hoarse shouts Ichigo flings at the place where it was, no more replies come through. A sudden weakness in Ichigo's feet brings him stumbling to his knees as he tightens his hold on Zangetsu like an improvised crutch. He swears yet again as he realises the magnitude of reiatsu that he just sacrificed.

Ichigo's eyebrows come together as he struggles to regulate his breathing and heart rate. His mind races as he analyses their situation. Stuck an indeterminable number of years in the past, Rukia injured and out of it, himself as close to reiatsu drained as he can remember, labeled as ryoka, marked with the sigil of a division that currently does not exist.

All in all: not good.

Scrubbing a hand roughly across his sweat-covered brow, he begins to stand, only to be met by the needle-sharp point of Senbonzakura digging into the back of his neck.

Ichigo is not in the best of moods for anything resembling patience. "Will you _cut that out, Byakuya!_" he growls, sending a sideways glare at the noble. Behind him, Byakuya raises an eyebrow at the use of his first name, especially without an honorific, but answers by increasing the pressure of the sword.

"You are under arrest, ryoka, for breaking the law –"

Byakuya's grey eyes widen as he abruptly tips forward, Senbonzakura unexpectedly touching nothing but thin air. He manages to catch himself, but not before the blade scores a thin line in the dirt.

A glance upwards reveals Ichigo a few feet away, asking Ukitake softly about Rukia's condition, a hand resting on her dark hair.

_I could barely see that movement._ That shunpo was fast enough to rival Yoruichi's at her best – godlike speed. Not to mention _he shunpo-ed on his knees?_ Byakuya notices that the ryoka's huge zanpaktuo remains stuck upright in the ground, left behind in his concern for his fukutaichou.

_Massive reiatsu, near-perfect houhou, and an unbelievable inability to see us as a threat. Who _is_ he?_

Ukitake lifts his hand from Rukia's forehead. "I have stopped the bleeding for now, but she needs a blood transfer as soon as possible." The girl who looks like his sister is still pale. Byakuya places himself between Ichigo and his blade, Senbonzakura held loosely in his palm, ready but not directly pointing at the ryoka. This ryoka intrigues him. He would wait and see.

Ichigo moves to gather the girl in his arms again, breathing a sigh of relief and thanking Ukitake profusely. Only now does Byakuya catch sight of the badge previously hidden underneath her arm. So. A taichou and a fukutaichou.

The appearance of a distinct number of powerful reiatsu signatures on the roof tiles framing the courtyard cause all three captains to look up.

Kyouraku, holding his straw hat at a jaunty angle, flowery haori billowing in the wind. Kenpachi, hair sticking up in dangerous spikes, a wide grin splitting his face. Sui Fong, lithe and crouched, the two metal rings behind her swinging back and forth. Komamura, helmeted, his armor glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. Unohana, her demure face drawn into a frown, fingers intertwined in her long braid.

The setting sun throws them all into silhouetted half-shadow, gleaming off their drawn zanpakutos.

Kyouraku is the first to speak. "You called, Ukitake?" Ukitake's hell butterfly sits on his shoulder. The words are spoken in a chiding lilt, but a calculating look resides in his half-lidded eyes as he sweeps his gaze over the courtyard.

Below, Ichigo takes one look at the situation, and the five zanpaktuos drawn – six, if Senbonzakura was to be counted – and rises smoothly to his feet, cradling Rukia in his arms.

He lifts his head and states formally in what Rukia calls his "leader-berry" voice, "Captains. My name is Kurosaki Ichigo. I am the taichou of the Fourteenth Divison of the Gotei 14." He bows slightly, only inclining his head really, the bow of a man facing equals.

Ichigo looks them all in the eye. "Forgive me for trespassing on your time and territory. If I may ask a question – this may sound strange – what year is it?"

* * *

**And there you have it. Was it entertaining? No, was it **_**readable?**_** O_o Oh, and is it weird that I use taichou and captain interchangeably? As regards to the potentially massive plothole of Aizen, Gin and Tousen, I will address that in later chapters. I'm not even sure about how Zaraki fits into the timeline – to be honest the timeline is a bit messed up in Bleach canon, but I want him to be present, so there he is, grinning like a maniac down at Byakuya. **

**And I'll add in Shiba Isshin and Shiba Kaien soon, so expect angst bunnies.**

**Oh, and this is NOT a Rukia-is-a-damsel-in-distress story! She's going to have a nice, long talk (i.e. A kicking match) with Ichigo over how he's way too protective and doesn't appreciate her position as his fukutaichou.**

**Review please? It really helps me get the motivation to write good stuff.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I am absolutely, completely, utterly blown away by the reception for the first chapter of this fic. What, 15 reviews? FIFTEEN. And a lot of follows and favourites. *Dances in glee* I confess though that I could have updated a bit sooner if not for the fact that the reading lists for university next year came out this week so I had actual work to do. :P**

**But I wrote extra fast because I love you all, and you guys have been great encouragement. Thanks especially to all the people who reviewed – , Phantom Claire, Keegan.K92, Jordan Kurosaki, ilovebks, PsychoNinjaWolf, SithStalker234, Orange3WhiteSkew, Hinata001, uzuki-chan, derrangedfangirl006, Miwokgirl01, Rose Catcher, Tsuki no Yukihime, Takagi Arin. I hope I didn't misspell your names :)**

**Right, don't own Bleach, blah blah :D Onwards with the fic!**

* * *

_Below, Ichigo takes one look at the situation, and the five zanpaktuos drawn – six, if Senbonzakura was to be counted – and rises smoothly to his feet, cradling Rukia in his arms. _

_He lifts his head and states formally in what Rukia calls his "leader-berry" voice, "Captains. My name is Kurosaki Ichigo. I am the taichou of the Fourteenth Division of the Gotei 14." He bows slightly, only inclining his head really, the bow of a man facing equals. _

_Ichigo looks them all in the eye. "Forgive me for trespassing on your time and territory. If I may ask a question – this may sound strange – what year is it?"_

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA K)

In the late afternoon, the setting sun drifts near the threshold of the horizon, setting earth and sky on fire with crimson and magenta hues. The gathered clouds shine with blinding light on their western edges, hiding darkness in their folds in the east. The buildings of Seireitei are similarly silhouetted, red and black, light and shadow.

Seven captains surround Ichigo, two on the ground next to him, five standing on the courtyard rooftop.

A slight pause follows Ichigo's question as the captains process the significance of the query.

"There are thirteen divisions in the Gotei 13. Are you possibly suggesting that you are from…the future, young ryoka?" Kyouraku asks in return. The corner of his mouth upturns in a half amused, half disbelieving twist.

To his surprise, the young man standing below merely shifts the girl in his arms to a more comfortable position and fires right back, "Well, I don't know, do I? That was sort of the point of _asking the date_?" The sarcasm lies heavy on his words.

Another pause.

"I like him," Kenpachi states loudly to no one in particular, bells jingling as he scratches one ear. "I'm gonna fight you sometime, boy. Was that freaky reiatsu thing just now you?"

"Aa."

Kenpachi's grin impossibly widens even more. "I'm _definitely _going to fight you then –"

"The year is 1957, anno Domini, by the common calendar of the human world." Komamura growls roughly, cutting Kenpachi off before he gets too carried away.

Zaraki scowls, but a deceptively warm look from Unohana makes the scarred face retreat into a sudden expression akin to a kicked puppy. That look says something on the lines of "say any more and I will kill you with healing cream". And while that is a paradox, with Unohana, nothing is impossible for the scary glint hidden in her soft gaze.

Below them, Ichigo blocks out his surroundings and does a quick mental calculation. Fifty-five years. Far back enough for a whole host of problems. His mind goes into overdrive as Ichigo catalogues the possible minefields before him – half a century means he isn't even born yet, but Rukia…

_Kaien. Byakuya. Renji. _Not to mention for Ichigo himself, his _dad_ might be still in the Gotei 13.

_Wait a second. Aizen. Gin. Tousen._

The abrupt realization of by far the biggest problem on his hands hits Ichigo like a punch to his chest. What is left of his reiatsu threatens to explode out of him as his pupils dilate in a moment of pure, undiluted panic. Rukia squeaks unconsciously in his arms as the reiatsu reaches her.

_Crap. That might be viewed as an attack. _But before Ichigo has a chance to pull back on his reiatsu, he feels Zangetsu slam up dampener walls inside his mind on reflex.

The reiatsu wave putters out within twenty feet.

A shift of cloth behind him prompts Ichigo to swing Zangetsu's broad blade behind him.

There is a ringing clash of metal on metal as Senbonzakura's tip scrapes off Zangetsu's edge. Ichigo looks up as his thoughts clear and he finally notices that somebody had been talking to him.

"–to take you into the specific custody of the Gotei 13," Kyouraku finishes, his zanpakutuo gripped ready after that rush of reiatsu.

Ichigo blinks twice, complete confusion on his face. The captains have jumped down to the courtyard, surrounding him in a near-perfect circle. Half of the courtyard is thrown into shadow as the sun slips lower on the horizon.

"Ano…" Ichigo replies with a hint of embarrassment, "I may have…blanked out for a bit. Sorry about that." It is not clear whether he meant his unattentiveness or the reiatsu burst. "I was sort of doing a mental calculation, so, um, could you repeat that?"

It is not often that a ryoka can reduce seven captains of the Gotei 13 to complete speechlessness. Unless, of course, said ryoka goes by the name of Kurosaki Ichigo.

_Is he serious?_

Then Soi Fong barks a harsh laugh, the crimson sunset catching the edge of her features. "My, my, Ukitake, you have caught us a fine specimen of intelligence today."

"Oi. What was that supposed to mean."

Soi Fong smirked. "Exactly what you think. I will translate what Kyouraku-taichou said so your limited brain function can understand, ryoka. You are going to come with us."

Ichigo blinks again.

"Uh, sure. No problem. Where're we going? Captain's meeting hall?"

Of all the answers that he could have said, _that_ was not what the captains expected.

Looking at their flabbergasted expressions, Ichigo sighs. He is beginning to get seriously ticked off. "Look," he reasons, letting Zangetsu drop to stick point-down in the soft dirt, "I'm not here to trash Seireitei and beat all of you high-level shinigami to crap. Been there, done that. Oh, except for the plum tree. Sorry about that, Byakuya." Byakuya arches an eyebrow at this, but does not comment.

"I just want to fix up this gigantic political mess so I can get the sleep that I _need_ after Mayuri sent me and my fukutaichou _fifty five years back _through his blasted excuse for a scientific experiment. I will come quietly without resisting, or whatever your equivalent in law enforcement language is here, once my fukutaichou, Kuchiki Rukia, is healed." Ichigo carefully shifts Rukia in his arms so that her face is clearly visible to all the newly arrived captains.

The five captains start backwards in varying degrees of shock. "That does look like Kuchiki-san," Kyouraku says, sending a fleeting look at Byakuya, who nods imperceptibly.

"That's because she _is_ Rukia. She's lost a lot of blood." For the first time, the captains can see a hint of worry in the young man's voice and posture. "Can we bring her to the Fourth Division, Unohana-taichou?"

But it is Kyouraku who answers. "Leave her with Unohana-taichou. We will proceed to the meeting hall immediately, after sealing your zanpakutuo." At unspoken consent, all the captains lower their blades.

"What? No, I'm going with her. She's my subordinate." Ichigo surreptitiously hugs her closer to him.

"You don't have a choice," Komamura barks.

Ichigo suddenly straightens, a touch of fire returning to his eyes. He moves boldly, but slowly to avoid suspicion, to stand in front of Unohana. "Fine," he snaps. "But I need you to swear on your former title as Kenpachi, Unohana-taichou, that no harm will come to her while she lies in your care. I will settle for no less."

"So do I swear that it will be so," Unohana says immediately, taking Rukia. Ichigo's hands tremble as Rukia's warmth leaves them, but he stills them quickly by clenching his fists.

Abruptly in a foul mood, Ichigo tears Zangetsu out of the ground in one smooth, swift motion, flips it in his hands so the edge faces up, and shoves the blade into Ukitake's arms.

"Take Zangetsu. He hates you the least out of the captains. You should be alright touching him."

Ukitake's thin form is bowled over by Zangetsu's enormous weight, eyes round in surprise and hair flying. He picks himself up after a moment, muscles in his forearms straining to hold the zanpakutuo. "Tell him thanks for the compliment?" Ukitake tries, trying to smile but grimacing instead.

Zangetsu shivers in reply.

Ichigo dusts off his hands, hearing Zangetsu's unhappy grunt in his subconscious. _Bear with it_, he shoots back. Ichigo gives the captains a cursory glance, and says, "I don't have my zanpakutuo anymore, so you don't have to seal him. He doesn't like that sort of thing, you could hurt yourselves. We're going to the taichou meeting hall? Right. See you there, try to keep up."

The last two words are torn away by the wind as Ichigo shunpo-s into the distance at a breathtaking speed.

Soi Fong flings herself after him into the blood-red sky, her steps barely able to close the gap. Komumura and Zaraki follow.

"That gaki–" Kyouraku quips in something resembling admiration, also taking off.

Byakuya gives an affronted "hn", before first flash-stepping to Ukitake and lifting the burden of Zangetsu off him, then blurring away before the white-haired man has a chance to say "Thank you".

Ukitake and Unohana follow at a more sedate pace, the medic swerving towards the Fourth Division headquarters halfway across the sky.

On the other side of the Kuchiki manor, a young woman, having just returned from the training grounds where she also felt the bursts of reiatsu from before, brushes past the servants' greetings and sprints into the courtyard, violet eyes wide and calling for her Nii-sama.

But the courtyard is already empty.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA K)

The captain's meeting room is specifically constructed to seem vast and cavernous, in order to intimidate ryoka, traitors, captives alike. The blood-red of the surrounding walls cage the people below in a windowless prison of crimson, the single, unadorned seat for the soutaichou looming solitary, a judgment platform for the betrayer. The wood floor is polished to a mirror-gleam, so perfect and stainless that it seems sanctified and almost _holy_. Any prisoner who walks upon it does so tentatively, seeing all their deficiencies reflected in it – their clothes, their hair, the fear etched on their features. For anyone who does not belong there, the room is a judgment chamber, a hall of dread.

It is supposed to be, anyway.

Kurosaki Ichigo stands, carelessly slouched, facing eight of the most powerful shinigami in all of Seireitei, picking earwax out of one ear and flicking bits at the pristine wooden floor.

He does this with his left hand, while he holds his right away from his shihakushuo and haori. The look of absolute boredom on his face is no indication of his inner disgust at the drying rivulets of blood adorning his right forearm.

_Rukia's blood._

Ichigo is also pointedly immune to the scattering of death glares trained on his neck. To his left, Soi Fong emanates wave upon wave of murderous reiatsu, the sound of her teeth grinding together echoing to where he stands even though she is technically the farthest away from him.

She had lost the race to the captain's meeting room, not by a little, but by a _lot_.

When she had staggered to a panting halt next to the majestic double doors of the meeting hall, she could barely snarl her insults past her gasps for air at a serene Ichigo waiting for her cross-legged in a classic lotus meditation position.

"Hi, good of you to catch up," he had said, not bothering to open his eyes.

A gleam remarkably similar to a feral wolf flashed across her eyes. "How," she wheezed, "did, you, do that?"

"Skill."

She whipped out her zanpakutuo in a blind rage. "I am the _queen_ of shunpo!"

"No offense, but I was taught by better." It was a statement of fact. Ichigo still did not deign to open his eyes.

Soi Fong practically growled, "_Who. Are. You. Talking. About?_"

Ichigo shrugged nonchalantly. Before she had a chance to take the _brat's_ head off his snarky, disrespecting, _dead_ shoulders, a sizzle of burned flesh and a thunk of metal announced Byakuya's arrival.

Nobles do not curse. But Byakuya looked like he was on the brink of doing so. His hands trembled as they shone a faint red in the orange light of the setting sun. "It BURNED me," Byakuya spat.

Ichigo cracked an eye open. "There was a reason I gave Zangetsu to Ukitake, you know." Zangetsu emanated a faint sense of satisfaction in the back of Ichigo's mind.

Therein lies the reason for Byakuya's death glare, only slightly less murderous than Soi Fong's.

Ichigo is now mind-numblingly bored. They had been waiting for over half an hour for the very late taichou of the tenth division to turn up. Even Unohana had arrived fifteen minutes ago, giving Ichigo a small nod to show that Rukia was in safe hands. Sending spikes of killer intent at the younger version of Mayuri had lost its charm at length. And the sigh of relief that had washed over him when he had discovered that Aizen, Gin and Tousen were off on an extended mission hadn't lasted long, either.

"Maa," he says to the room at large, "Can I be excused to the bathroom or something?"

No answer.

Then with a creak of an opening door, the wizened form of the soutaichou, Yamamoto Genryuusai appears through a passage directly behind his seat at the head of the chamber. "You are awfully at ease for one in your situation, ryoka boy," Yamamoto says mildly, easing himself into the chair and laying his staff beside him.

A real grin splits Ichigo's face as he bows in proper respect from the waist. "Ohayo, Yama-jii!" he shouts. "It's great to see you again!"

Reactions to the blatantly disrespectful nickname are varied. Byakuya tilts his head back slowly. Mayuri shifts. Soi Fong snaps out, "Show some respect, boy!" Ukitake smiles to himself, Kyouraku hides a grin, and Zaraki barks out a laugh.

Yamamoto merely raises his eyebrows.

Clearing his old throat, he begins in a gravelly voice, "We have waited long enough for those who are late. I hence proclaim the start of the trial pertaining to this ryoka–"

Rapidly arriving stomping footsteps outside the doors.

Some sixth sense ingrained into Ichigo due to years living under the same roof with a man who has a sadomasochistic streak prompts him to dive into a tumble-roll away from the double doors.

BANG.

The swinging doors whip past Ichigo's upside-down vision, missing his head by centimetres. A pair of sandaled feet stride past him.

"Hello, everybody! Isshin-taichou here! Sorry for the wait, Masumoto-chan forgot to wake me up from my mid-afternoon siesta, ha ha ha ha–"

KWAP.

Ichigo's foot sweeps into his face in a stunning display of a textbook-perfect spinning roundhouse kick.

"Gurk…" Shiba Isshin is sent spiraling into a corner, face smushed in.

"KONNO HAKUCHI! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME!" Ichigo yells, landing in a perfectly balanced crouch. "Why is it that every time I end up in the same room as you I have to go through a NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE?!"

A thicket of zanpakutuos crowds around Ichigo's neck.

From the other side of the room, his father picks himself up from where he is plastered on the floor with a mumbled "Ite ite…" Isshin clambers to his feet, tweaking his nose experimentally. "This kid's got spunk," Isshin groans. "I'm going to get you back for that. Do I know you?"

"Ye-No," Ichigo says. "Not yet," he amends.

"Now _that's_ an interesting answer. And for some reason, Engetsu likes you." Isshin saunters past him to his place in line, meeting Ichigo's eyes for a brief second. "Let him go guys, I'm okay," he adds, tapping Byakuya's shoulder.

The thicket of swords is withdrawn with a metallic rasp.

"Do something like that again and I'll run you through," Komamura growls under his breath.

"I'm sure you will," Ichigo replies placidly.

Yamamoto raps his staff sharply against the wooden floor. On reflex, all the captains including Ichigo snap to attention, shoulders back and eyes forward.

It is not lost on the soutaichou how the boy so far has reacted to everything as one would expect a high-level captain of the Gotei 13 to – and not just any captain, but one versed in war. There are the telltale ghosts behind the ryoka boy's soft brown irises, the way his eyes scan and flicker between possible escape routes and entrances, the perpetual tenseness in his shoulders even when his arms and body seem deceptively relaxed.

_He is not to be underestimated._

"I have received a preliminary report about your sudden appearance, ryoka," Yamamoto begins slowly, tapping his hardened nails against the top of his cane.

An unreadable haze passes over Ichigo's features, and everyone in the room recognizes it as the return of the boy's previous "Captain" persona.

"With your permission, honorable soutaichou-sama, I will speak first, to save our gracious captains from a waste of their precious time." This is accompanied by a short bow, which he holds still in expectation of Yamamoto's reply.

From the side, Isshin stifles a snort at the sudden change in character of the young man standing before him. He is obviously used to dealing with authority.

Yamamoto inclines his head.

Ichigo straightens, clasps his hands behind his back, and begins. "I am, as I previously stated, Kurosaki Ichigo, captain of the Fourteenth Division of the Gotei 14. I arrived in the Seireitei of this time approximately an hour ago, accompanied by my fukutaichou, Kuchiki Rukia." Here, all eyes jump to Byakuya momentarily, but the noble is carefully blank-faced.

Yamamoto shifts. "Do you have proof of your identity?" The old man's eyes are flinty.

In reply, Ichigo swivels elegantly, displaying the number etched on his fine haori. As he completes his turn, Unohana speaks.

"His fukutaichou is in the Fourth Division's custody. I can confirm that by blood tests, the woman in my care is indeed Kuchiki Rukia."

Byakuya twitches once, then returns to his stonelike stillness.

At Ichigo's glare, Unohana continues with an edge of steel in her voice, "My promise to you still stands, child. A blood test does not constitute harm."

Yamamoto gestures at Ichigo. "Your identity is accepted – provisionally – and you may continue."

Ichigo does. "Our arrival here was – or will be, if you may – an accident. To spare you all the painfully scientific details, fifty-five years into the future, under the ceaseless experimentation of Kurotsuchi Mayuri-san, a prototype of a device capable to time-travel was created." Ichigo half turns in Mayuri's direction, and is not at all surprised when he sees the tall form of the scientist trembling in glee.

It also does not escape Ichigo's notice that both Ukitake and Byakuya have realised the blatant lack of mention of Urahara. At their pointed looks, he twitches one of his hands behind him. _I will explain later. Please._ Ukitake looks slightly mollified, Byakuya does not.

"Yes," Ichigo acknowledges Mayuri with a hint of annoyance, "You were very excited about the invention. You asked me, the possessor of the greatest reiatsu reserves known in the history of the shinigami, to provide a preliminary power source. I was sucked into the vortex. My fukutaichou followed out of loyalty. We appeared in Byakuya's garden. The rest, you all know better than I."

Ichigo steps forward boldly. "I wish to make it clear that neither I nor my subordinate mean the present Gotei 13 any harm whatsoever. We have received confirmation that in a few days Mayuri-san, the future version, will contact us to bring us back to our time. I would also like to raise the point that silence on our part regarding events in the future may be wise. It would not benefit Seireitei or indeed the human world if the timeline were disrupted."

A half-bow indicates the end of his explanation.

A short silence ensues as Yamamoto creases his brow in silent evaluation of the man before him. _Obviously not the whole truth, but rather a clever mix of lies with truths. _The ryoka is clearly used to dealing with complex political situations, capable of switching personas to deal with authority. _Exceedingly powerful. The comment about reiatsu reserves was not a lie._

In a few short sentences, the boy had established his apparent innocence, cleared his subordinate's name, balanced it off with an offhand threat regarding his strength, _and_ managed to spin a well-weaved excuse for not giving them any more information.

_Not to be underestimated, indeed._

"You have a sharp tongue, ryoka boy," Yamamoto remarks.

Ichigo smiles in that mock-humble way that most nobles do when complimented, and dips his head in thanks.

Yamamoto stands, bringing all the captains into attention once more. "I have made my decision. Kurosaki Ichigo and Kuchiki Rukia are no longer to be classified as ryoka. Until they return to their time, they will be regarded as…_guests_. They are henceforth prohibited from any unnecessary release of their zanpakutuos, and Kurosaki-san will be required to wear reiatsu suppressors. Otherwise, they have free passage in Seireitei when accompanied by capable officers."

"Thank you, Oji-san," Ichigo replies, relaxing somewhat.

"I am not finished. You are not to be treated as hostile," Yamamoto continues, "but regardless of your power, _child_, if we are provoked, you will not live to see the next sunrise." It is neither a threat nor a warning, but rather a statement of fact.

Ichigo winces. "Of course," he says, sweeping into another low bow. He can feel Byakuya's eyes drilling into the back of head. He still has some explaining to do.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA K)

The faint lights of the Kuchiki compound flicker and dance at the end of the street as Ichigo breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of soon to be rest and a good, long sleep.

Too tired and drained to shunpo, he has settled for a steady stride through the near-silent streets of Seireitei, the night air cool and crisp around him. Above, a full moon shines its soft, clear light, illuminating the folds of his shihakushuo and giving his white haori an incandescent glow.

The muted moonlight also rests on Rukia's sleeping form, held in his arms.

She breathes quietly, still under the influence of the medication given to her during her stay in the Fourth Division. An uncommonly soft expression passes over Ichigo's features as he looks down on his fukutaichou, whose face is half-buried in the crook of his arm.

A faint, silvery-white scar is all that remains of the gaping wound on Rukia's forehead that but hours ago gushed red. Her gloves are folded neatly on her stomach, someone of the Fourth having had the kindness to wash the crimson off them and handing them to Ichigo as he stepped out of the medic barracks.

A beaded bracelet hangs from each of Ichigo's wrists, impromptu reiatsu suppressors. He had refrained from mentioning that he could probably shatter ten of the bracelets with one pulse of reiatsu if he really wanted to. Nevertheless, they itch against his exposed skin, and in his mindscape, Zangetsu grumbles constantly.

Ichigo had gotten rid of both Byakuya and Ukitake shortly after the meeting, although they had more or less demanded an explanation about his association with Urahara. Ichigo hadn't messed with his words – he basically hinted at Urahara's innocence in regards to his expulsion from the Gotei without revealing too much, and the scientist's reinstatement. When asked by Ukitake why he did not say as much during the meeting, Ichigo bluntly stated that saying any more would seriously disrupt the timeline.

Byakuya was decidedly _not_ satisfied with this answer, but Ichigo had given him a tired glare and reminded him that his _sister's_ safety presently depended on whether she was classified as a threat to the Gotei, and so mentioning a traitor to the Soutaichou was unwise in such circumstances.

That shut the noble up quite quickly.

Afterwards, Ukitake had left, and Byakuya shunpo-ed off to arrange their stay at his household, leaving Ichigo to trudge to the Fourth Division to pick Rukia up.

With a start, Ichigo realises wearily that he has reached the gates of the Kuchiki compound. For an awkward few seconds, he contemplates how he is going to reach for that brass knocker without waking Rukia or slinging her over one shoulder. She is small, but not _that_ small that he can hold her in the curve of one arm.

_Whatever, I'll just kick the stupid thing._

He draws back a foot and is about to give a kick worthy of Karin's football drop-kicks when the double doors swing backwards without so much as a creak.

Three servants stand behind the gates, heads bowed in respect. A few years ago Ichigo would have been reflexively uneasy around such abject submission, but a combination of spending too much time around Rukia and visiting the house just to tick Byakuya off has effectively cured him of such awkwardness.

Striding past them with a slight nod, Ichigo kicks off his sandals as he steps into the house. One of the white-robed servants disappears with them, as the others motion to take Rukia from him.

"No," Ichigo states flatly, holding her closer. The two servants dither silently for a bit, eyes jumping nervously towards what Ichigo knows is Byakuya's study.

"Um, sir," one tries hesitantly.

"If Byakuya has a problem with me, he can take it up with me. I assume that there are guest rooms prepared for us?"

"Of course, Kurosaki-sama."

"Lead the way." It is impossible to argue with Ichigo's tone of voice.

The two servants swallow, and comply wordlessly.

The servants glide like specters through the silence of the Kuchiki compound, their bare feet soundless on the wooden floor. Ichigo follows, also silent.

One of them gestures gracefully, intoning, "The are two rooms just around the corner, Kurosaki-sama. Please do not hesitate to call if you require anything."

"Sure. Thanks."

Ichigo takes three steps, then half-turns back when he senses that the two servants are still there. He sighs. Trust Byakuya to be so protective of his sister, even one obviously more capable and from the future.

"You can leave now. We'll be fine." A pointed look.

The servants hesitate for a moment longer, and then back away into the shadows.

Ichigo yawns tiredly and turns the corner, eyes once again focused down on Rukia's sleeping face.

A surprised yelp as he nearly crashes into another petite figure walking in the opposite direction.

Ichigo snaps his head up.

And he meets the slightly frightened violet eyes of Kuchiki Rukia, clad in her night yukata.

For a moment, they stare dumbfounded at each other, Ichigo trying to process the sight of a younger, shorter Rukia. _So the midget did grow after all._ But there is something more vulnerable in this Rukia – she seems smaller, somehow, even more than the unconscious figure in his arms. There is no fire in this girl's eyes, no smirking twist to her mouth, no laughing inclination for sudden violence towards her Strawberry.

The girl before him hunches her shoulders, her arms gathered against herself. There is an air of nervousness around her that speaks of an unfamiliar environment and an inability to live up to expectations.

Ichigo finds himself pitying her. She seems so different from the strong, independent woman that he knows.

Suddenly, he realises that he has been staring at her for the past five seconds with a look of intense scrutiny.

"Um…hi," he says, hand compulsively trying to reach backwards to rub at his neck but stopping at his fukutaichou's weight. "Sorry about that. Did I startle you?"

The younger Rukia shakes her head, venturing, "Kurosaki…taichou?"

Ichigo winces. Rukia almost never calls him by his title, and when she does it is always to mock him. To hear the honorific coming out of her mouth makes her seem like a stranger.

Then again, this Rukia is.

"Aa. I take it Byakuya told you about the, ah, situation?" Ichigo speaks softer than usual, tentative before this familiar yet not familiar girl.

"Hai." Rukia speaks even quieter than he does, her violet eyes glowing in the dark. She leans forward impulsively. "Is that…"

Ichigo shifts Rukia, nodding. "Yeah. I was just, um, putting you to sleep." Then he notices how that was particularly phrased, and blushes.

Awkward. _Awkwardawkwardawkward._

The Rukia standing there blushes an even deeper crimson, but a twitch of her eyebrow hints at a familiar sarcasm.

"Right," she quips.

"Yeah."

A moment more of embarrassed staring.

"Goodnight, then," they both blurt out at the same time. Then she glides past him into the corridor beyond, and he is alone with one Rukia instead of two.

Ichigo blinks a couple times, then shakes his head and slides the door to Rukia's guestroom open with one foot.

He strides over to the bed and carefully lays Rukia down, placing her gloves on the bedside table and leaning Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki on the headboard. Ichigo reaches for her sandals and eases them off her feet, arranging them at the foot of the bed. He gently pulls the covers over her slight form and closes the door to block off the night chill.

Only then does he pick up the chair by the desk and bring it over to the bedside, sinking down into it with a sigh of relief.

He spends a minute just studying her face, and how the silver moonlight plays over her delicate features.

Ichigo rubs his eyes with the back of his hands, trying to ease his growing headache. It is at times like this, when she seems so defenseless just lying there, that Ichigo feels an overpowering need to protect her against everything. He knows that Rukia is nearly captain level in strength, and that she obviously resents him for underplaying her role in missions, but he just can't help himself.

_I'm a fukutaichou, Ichigo! _Your_ fukutaichou! Her eyes, ablaze with fury._

The memory surfaces unbidden to his mind. He growls at it, batting it away.

Rukia shifts at the sound, mumbling something incoherent.

Ichigo quiets immediately, scared of waking her. A strand of hair has slipped into her slightly drooling mouth. He smiles, and reaches out to brush it away from her face.

He _knows_ that he is being too overprotective. Just as he knows that she is going to beat him up for it, someday. But Ichigo really can't help it, Rukia is his…

_Best friend? Subordinate? Resident midget?_

Ichigo stops thinking about it before his brain strays to dangerous territory.

He tucks her in tighter against the cold, eyes never leaving her face. Somehow Ichigo needs to see her there in front of him for a bit longer, convince himself that Rukia, his Rukia is still here, not gone and replaced by that stranger he had passed in the corridor outside.

In his tiredness, he had nearly allowed himself to forget that they weren't actually safe in Seireitei. His dad had seemed much the same, and that lulled him into a false sense of security. Walking into a different Rukia had been a shock, the final hammerblow.

They aren't safe.

And tomorrow, he would have to explain to Rukia that they were trapped in a past filled with living ghosts from her memory, a brother that doesn't act like the one she knows, and old enemies around the corner.

Dear heavens he's tired.

Ichigo pulls his chair closer to Rukia. He would stay a while, and watch over her.

The moonlight dances over her raven hair.

A little longer, a little longer…

The moon peeks through a window at a taichou and his fukutaichou, both soundly asleep.

* * *

**Did you like that? Was it cute? I do apologise for the over-amount of talking in this chapter, it just had to be done for logical purposes. And I also apologise that Rukia spent all of this chapter out of it, she **_**will**_** be alive and kicking butt in the next chapter, I promise. **

**Please review! Reviews are the best encouragement and actually make me write faster. Next chapter is going to be complicated, probably – enter Kaien. I hope. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, I'm back! Firstly, can I just say how much I absolutely love you all? I was happy with fifteen reviews for the first chapter, and then I got twenty-four for the second. :') You guys are the best encouragement, thank you all of you that followed, favourited, and reviewed.**

**Here are the people who reviewed, I LOVE YOU ALL: Kaihaku no Iroke, Guest, Dark Shadows, MugetsuIchigo, Kireina-Ame, uzuki-chan, brialees, Jordan Kurosaki, xombi316, Phantom Claire, fanfictionfan72, Noelle89, ilovebks, Tsuki no Yukihime, Read Love and Review, laughingspider, bakapock, mypupps1, adamxero, warrior-of-water, Irishmate, bookdaughter, dhmhtra375, PsychoNinjaWolf.**

**Don't own Bleach, etc. Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

The second day after the first flowering of that year's plum blossoms dawns clear and bright, a brisk winter chill capering through the early morning air. The sharp little twist of wind pirouettes over the sloping roofs of the Kuchiki manor, dances past a lone servant sweeping floors, lingers for a half-beat under the darkened eaves, before slipping through an open window and ruffling a certain captain's violently orange hair.

Kurosaki Ichigo jerks awake, haori billowing around him from the force of his muffled sneeze.

The next moment, a cacophony of aches and pains forces Ichigo's half-asleep mind to full awareness as he tries to bite back a groan.

_What on earth happened to my back, and my shoulders, and my _neck_…_

Ichigo blearily tries to review events in his head – has he been fighting an over-excited Zaraki recently? _No. I think. _Excessive training then? _Errr. Too much paperwork for training…_ Did Rukia beat him up? _Did she?_

_Rukia._

His eyes fly wide open as he bolts upright, all the previous day's events rushing back into his head. _Urahara. Machine. Fifty-five years…_

Ichigo swears as a migraine and screaming muscles all the way down his spine indicate a severe overstress for both brain and body the day before. A glance backwards reveals the hard-backed wooden chair that had obviously served as that night's bed.

_No wonder my neck's killing me._

Trying to ignore the fiery cramps in his shoulders, Ichigo half-hobbles towards the bed, where Rukia lies, still and breathing evenly. He ignores the dent in the mattress where his head had laid at an awkward angle – he must have held her hand all night while they slept – and lays a gentle palm on her forehead.

A soft smile touches Ichigo's face as he finds Rukia back to a healthy warmth, a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks showing that yesterday's blood loss has no long-lasting effect on his fukutaichou. Rukia unconsciously leans into his hand and the comfort that it provides.

Ichigo decides to let her sleep a while longer, for she probably needs the rest. Kneeling, he lets his hand stroke her raven hair away from her face, stifling a yawn with the other.

He lifts his gaze to the window set in the wall opposite, where the first golden rays of morning light sift through the open sill. If he remembers correctly, the plum blossoms should be visible from this room.

Kuchiki Byakuya's furious slate-grey stare fills the entirety of the window, intense and unblinking.

"WHAT – CRAP!" Ichigo yells, tipping backwards on his heels to land with an undignified thump on his backside in the middle of the room, feet scrabbling at the floor in his attempt to get away from the vengeful statue.

Rukia rolls over, muttering half-coherent phrases. "Baka Strawber…." She falls right back asleep again.

Byakuya's glare impossibly grows even more deadly at his sister's near-awakening. Ichigo fires back an equally venomous scowl, even as he pulls himself to his feet, straightens his haori, and yanks open the sliding door.

A sweeping glance at the garden suffused with early morning light shows that Byakuya has already shunpo-ed into the center of it, clearly wishing to hold his conversation away from the ears of his slumbering sister.

An eyeblink later, Ichigo stands nose to nose with the Kuchiki noble.

"What is your _problem_? It is your hobby or something, standing like a _zombie_ outside people's rooms very early in the morning? You are going to be the subject of my nightmares for the next half century!"

Ichigo would have gone on if not for Byakuya's raised cultured eyebrow that shows a complete inability to understand the meaning of the word "zombie".

This is strangely deflating. Ichigo loses momentum.

"You-you- ARRGGHH!" Ichigo vents in frustration, throwing his hands into the air.

Byakuya sniffs, his expression akin to what one's face would be like after seeing a street tramp attempt to talk to high society. The sleeves of his sleep yukata drape over his bandaged hands – remnants of yesterday's brush with Zangetsu.

"Why," Byakuya begins quietly, "do you scorn the rules of my clan?"

"Eh?" Ichigo's brow furrows in sudden confusion.

The first hint of anger shows itself in Byakuya's steel eyes. "Do not mock me, Kurosaki Ichigo. Taichou you may claim to be, and guest of my household you may be, it is a severe breach of the rules of your stay to even step into the room of any member of the Kuchiki clan, male or female. You, of your self-claimed status as captain, should know this."

Ichigo narrows his eyes. From how Byakuya had phrased that last sentence, he was obviously more worried about _etiquette _than anything else.

When Ichigo next speaks, it is in a dead, dangerous tone. "Is that all she is to you?" he asks. "A Kuchiki. A clan member."

Byakuya starts, surprised. He begins, "I – she is adopted into the clan. The clan's code–"

Ichigo practically snarls, "She is your _sister_. Now I don't _care_ that you only adopted her because of a promise you your late wife" –Byakuya blinks– "but from where, no, _when_, I'm from, you treat Rukia like she is your closest family."

Ichigo looks like he is on the verge of grabbing Byakuya's collar, but stops himself. "I've heard from Rukia what you were like in the past. She called you cold. Unfeeling. Empty." He looks Byakuya right in the eye. "Seems like that was an understatement, softened as always by her love for her nii-sama."

Byakuya finally finds his voice. "Don't you _dare _place your presumptions on me, _boy–_"

"Rukia has many demons in her past." Ichigo's eyes are flinty. "She grew past them." And here his voice turns soft. "And I will not allow those demons to resurface because of a scientific experiment gone wrong."

Ichigo spins on one heel, stalking towards the kitchens. But a mere two steps later, he turns his head back. "For your information, Byakuya, Rukia is my subordinate and best friend. She was injured, and I don't give a crap about your _clan rules__._" A pause. Then, a sudden change of subject. "And, just so you know, if I ever wished to court her, I would ask your consent." Ichigo executes a curt half bow. "Don't take it as a compliment. You are a better man in the future."

And Kurosaki Ichigo turns his back on the Kuchiki noble, striding away.

Byakuya is left alone in the courtyard, the mocking wind hooking the edge of his yukata sleeves and sending them fluttering in the cold air.

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The sun has not quite reached its zenith along its great arc circumscribed on the heavens when the temporary silence that has descended upon the Kuchiki household is broken by the arrival of three distinct guests. Two of them, one short with dark blonde hair, and the other, fiddling with his short goatee, stop their squabbling for a few precious seconds as they are ushered in through the front doors by a pair of servants, only to chatter away again once the gates click shut.

The remaining figure is also clad in a shihakushuo, but his left arm sports a fukutaichou's badge. Tall and with a sauntering gait, his black hair meticulously untamed and a happy smirk on his face, the man strides into the Kuchiki manor with a practiced ease, as if he owns the place or simply can't bring himself to really care about the nobility who actually do own it. The servants scramble out of his path, expressions of distaste hidden under carefully submissive façades.

Shiba Kaien is a man with a certain…presence, after all.

Behind him, Kiyone and Sentaro's argument begins to reach gale-force proportions, as in the absence of the actual root of their petty bickering – Kaien has noticed that for the past half hour they seem to have forgotten what they were arguing about in the first place – they degenerate into ever more childish name-calling.

Approximately thirty feet later, Kaien abruptly halts, swivels on the spot, and in a single, graceful movement, takes ahold of the heads of the shared-third-seats of the Thirteenth Division and whacks them together painfully.

The clack of skull hitting skull echoes across the courtyard.

Kiyone and Sentaro stop shouting and revert to muffled cursing as they rub their foreheads ruefully.

"Right, you fools," Kaien says with a significant look at both of them, "I only allowed you to come with me to meet our Rukia from the future because I knew you idiots wouldn't shut up about it if I didn't."

He is about the same height as Sentaro, but somehow seems to tower over both his subordinates. "Let me make this clear. As Ukitake-taichou told us, she was injured yesterday. So when we see her," and here he reinforces his point with a classic glare, "you are not to pile excessive questions or, heaven forbid, your _excitement_, on her, do you understand? This is an order." He taps the hilt of Nejibana.

Sentaro nods repeatedly, a drop of sweat running down into his headband. Kiyone cowers under her fukutaichou's shadow, and similarly nods her assent. They both know that Kaien is not to taken lightly on matters involving Kuchiki Rukia, future version or not.

"Good. Let's go."

As the three approach the wooden door marking the entrance to the guest room, Kaien frowns as he notices that only one of the many guest rooms is in fact occupied. Ukitake had specified two people from the future…

Kaien's unvoiced question is answered as a tall man garbed in shihakushuo and haori, complete with the most obscenely bright orange hair he has ever seen slides open the door, wooden tray of empty teapot and cups in one hand.

The three approaching shinigami's footsteps are silent, but some unidentifiable intuition makes the man look up, the bright sunlight cascading over his face.

Guarded green eyes meet wary brown irises.

A moment's pause.

"You must be Kurosaki Ichigo-taichou," Kaien says, crossing the distance between them in two strides and extending his hand in greeting. "My name is–"

"Shiba Kaien," Ichigo cuts in immediately. The wary look in his eyes has doubly increased. But he does shake Kaien's hand, albeit with a firmer grip than usual. Kaien does not flinch, returning the pressure. They both realise at the same time that they are almost exactly the same height, indistinguishable to a hairsbreadth's difference.

As they release the handshake, Kiyone bounces beside them and announces, "Wow. You guys look really, really similar. Are you, like, related in the future or something?"

Sentaro peers closely at each of their faces, and is rewarded by two equally irritated glares. But this only serves to intensify their likeness. Sentaro yelps, "You even scowl the same. You look a lot alike."

At this, Ichigo breathes a world-weary sigh. "Yes we do," he says, rolling his eyes, "as I've been told many, _many_ times, Kiyone. Sentaro."

The dual-third-seats lean forward in tandem, saying simultaneously, "You know us!"

"Yes," Kaien says uncharacteristically quietly, narrowing his eyes, "do we know each other?"

Ichigo gives the dark-haired man standing in front of him an appraising stare. "I don't know you," he says carefully, "but I have heard of you. Let's just say your reputation precedes you." So this man is Shiba Kaien, the _Kaien-dono_ that Rukia sometimes mentioned almost by accident, always with a shadow of regret marring her face and a wistful twist to her lips.

Even now, years after Rukia had first fixed on him that disbelieving stare tinged with recognition that night he killed his first hollow, Ichigo sometimes still catches her staring at him but not at him, with a glazed look of longing for someone that isn't there. The moment Ichigo saw this man, he had known why. It really was like staring into a mirror.

Ichigo feels an unbidden stir of something resembling jealousy in the pit of his stomach.

Shiba Kaien, his cousin. His reiatsu signature is an unsettlingly familiar fusion of Ichigo's father, Shiba Ganju, and Kukaku-nee, as if their soul signatures had been thrown into a gigantic melting pot of…_family_.

Of course, Ichigo hadn't known that until the night his father had decided to tell him about the Shiba clan and his mother, long after Kaien's death. It is a bit surreal, seeing the ghost half-sketched by Isshin's vague comments and Rukia's whispered references standing real and alive before him.

_First Byakuya, now Shiba Kaien._ Ichigo steels himself. The many phantoms of Rukia's past are coming one after the other.

Suddenly he is glad that Rukia hasn't awoken yet.

Ichigo is aware that Kaien has also sensed something amiss, or hidden, in his diplomatic words. There is a calculating flicker in the man's sea-green eyes as he runs a hand through his black hair.

"We've come to see Rukia, if you don't mind." Kaien is as straightforward as Ichigo expected him to be.

_No way she's waking up to a ghost._

Ichigo tilts his head to one side. "You know about our…situation?" he asks as way of distraction.

"Ukitake-taichou informed us. The general policy handed down by the Soutaichou is that most high-level seated officers are to know of who you are and the nature of your arrival into our time. Naturally, it is an A-class secret."

Ichigo accepts this, and says nothing in return. Kaien returns his gaze levelly.

"No," Ichigo states blandly, shifting the tea-tray from one hand to the other and scratching his nose absentmindedly.

Kaien shifts, a carefully neutral expression on his face. "Why?" he returns, just as simply.

"Because I say so," Ichigo says. There is no raised inflection, nor anger in his voice. "She has been unconscious since our first moment in this time, and she's not even awake yet. As her taichou, and friend, I cannot let her first waking moment be loaded with useless chatter." He gives Sentaro and Kiyone a glance, using them as an excuse.

Something unspoken passes between the two men, and suddenly Kaien turns to his subordinates. "Well then, I guess that much is true. We can't impose that on our _honourable taichou _here, so you two will have to go. Get back to the barracks."

Kiyone and Sentaro look to complain hotly, but a tap of Nejibana's sheath sends them scampering away.

Kaien watches them leave, and languidly turns to face Ichigo again. "Now they're gone. But I suppose there's more to this, isn't there?"

A shadow passes over Ichigo's face. Finally, he sighs. "Look," he says reasonably, "I've heard enough from Rukia to know that you are not the type of man to be turned away at a half-truth. You and Rukia have a…history, of sorts."

Kaien's eyebrows rise higher.

Ichigo takes one look at his expression and blanches. "Not _that_ kind of history," he amends quickly.

The eyebrows relax into a mildly sardonic curve.

"Anyway," Ichigo flounders on relentlessly, "for Rukia, it cuts deep. Very deep. I know I can't prevent you meeting sometime in the next few days, but can I ask that when it happens, it happens on her terms, by her choice?"

Kaien ponders this strange request for a moment, noting that the determined gleam in Ichigo's eyes comes from something more than a habit of command. There is worry, and care, and an overwhelming need to shield and protect.

To this particular feeling, the fukutaichou can relate.

"Of course," Kaien answers, forgoing his usual brash sarcasm for a straight answer. Ichigo's shoulders slump in relief, his fingers gripping the tea tray so tightly that his knuckles shine white.

"Although it sounds a bit ominous," Kaien adds after a half-beat, grinning.

"You have no idea," Ichigo snorts, hand rubbing the back of his neck on reflex. "Thank you, by the way."

"No problem –"

A searching voice from the room behind them cuts across their conversation, still with traces of weakness lacing its words.

"Ichigo? Is that you outside?"

_You, on the roof. Now._ Ichigo's free hand rapidly runs through the coded hand signals that are a staple academy course for all shinigami initiates. Not that he ever attended the academy, of course. The hand signals are courtesy of Yoruichi.

A sharp nod later, Kaien has landed soundlessly on the roofing tiles, sandaled feet bent in a crouch.

Ichigo draws a steadying breath and slides open the door.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA K)

Whirling, scattered dream-images flutter and dance across the landscape of Rukia's mind, as she tiptoes on the far boundary between sleep and wakefulness. She half-imagines cool, gentle fingers on her brow, and someone holding her hand. It is this hand that grounds her to reality, and prevents her from tipping over the edge of that mental chasm filled to the brim with a thousand vibrant butterflies of every colour imaginable, no, not butterflies, sakura petals, pink and shimmering…

A startled intake of breath, and Rukia's violet eyes open as she jolts awake.

Her fingers twist in the white cotton of her pillow as she frowns. Something is different about that morning. By all means, it smells like the Kuchiki compound, a muted musk of pinewood floors and fresh grass, and it sounds like her home, the afternoon cicadas beginning to rasp.

The _afternoon _cicadas? She usually wakes at the crack of dawn.

Alarmed, Rukia raises her head. A shift of her body reveals that she has slept in the comparatively rough cloth of her shihakushuo, her feet still clad in socks. Her gloves are gone.

Rukia springs upward into a sitting position, but an unwelcome jab of pain in her temples is almost enough to cause her to slump down again.

_Dratted headache…_

A horrifying conclusion leaps into Rukia's fuzzy mind.

_Did I go drinking last night? _

Rukia goes rigid with terror, eyes round, fingers drawing the light blanket to her chin. That would certainly explain the headache. But the fact that she _slept in her workclothes_ must have meant that she had gotten so out of it that she wasn't lucid enough to go home by herself.

Oh no. Did _Renji_ have to carry her back? And her _nii-sama_…

A nightmare image of her nii-sama dressed in nightclothes accepting a drooping bundle of very drunk sister from a hiccupping, swaying Renji, and the probably having to carry her into her room, and having to _take her shoes off for her_ and tuck her in…

Rukia throws the blanket over her head in trembling embarrassment, reducing herself to a very small blanketed bundle, although there is no one to see her.

_Breathe. Don't panic._

Rukia clamps down on her overactive imagination and takes a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

A peek outside her blankets shows a strange fact – she isn't in her room. A lone chair sits very close to the bedside – who sat there? – and the desk is empty of her Chappy adornments.

A faint residue of reiatsu from the chair determines not her nii-sama, but Ichigo? Glancing at the headboard, she sees Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki leaning intertwined against the wall.

The swell of voices outside the door prevents any further thought. Leaning forward, she catches small gleanings of the conversation.

"Prevent…meeting…her…choice…ominous…"

Rukia's frown deepens. The voices are barely discernable, but one is definitely Ichigo's. The other sounds familiar – _the other – _she stifles a gasp. That voice is over a half-century dead.

"Ichigo? Is that you outside?" She is surprised by how rough and sandy her voice sounds, and coughs into her hand.

The voices stop abruptly.

The door slides open, and Ichigo's tall form is briefly silhouetted against the blinding noonday sun before he eases the door shut.

Seeing her coughing, he drops down on one knee so that they are level, rubbing one hand in soothing circles on her back as he peers concernedly into her face, warm brown eyes crinkled with worry. "Good to see you're finally awake, how do you feel?"

The coughing subsides, and in between gasps of air, Rukia ignores him completely and asks, "Who were you speaking to?"

Ichigo shifts uncomfortably, finding her violet gaze intensely unblinking. "Uh," he replies a tad too quickly, "no one. I was talking to myself." He tries to hold her unwavering stare, willing the lie to hide itself.

It is a futile endeavour. Rukia knows her Strawberry-taichou better than he does himself. Unknown to him, such an attempt to lie is so blatantly obvious to her that he might as well have been trying to convince his father that his new favourite show was _Desperate Housewives_.

Rukia looks at Ichigo, and sees the telltale signs – the twitch of his eyelashes, how his fingers fiddle with the silky edge of his haori, the tensing of his shoulders – and is disappointed and more than a little hurt. She would have thought that they were past secrets now, ten full years after she first laid eyes on that shock of orange hair. The second emotion, running on the coattails of the first, is anger. Anger at his infuriating coddling, that inability to _trust_ her to handle herself.

But she reins herself in. Flashing him a smirk, she hides her scoff at the relieved sagging of his shoulders as she allows him to believe that she was fooled.

"What happened, baka?" she asks, gesturing at the room and her clothes in general.

The look of caring concern on Ichigo's face would have been endearing in other circumstances, but now only serves to increase the slowly boiling pit of anger in her chest.

"Don't you remember anything, Rukia? You hit your head quite hard." An extended finger ghosts over her forehead, and a glimmer of past fear.

She jerks back from his touch. "About what?"

"Urahara. Mayuri. The machine."

A flood of memories crashes into her as she remembers the experiment, Ichigo's reiatsu, the panic-danger-horror moment as he is sucked in, and her determination to _not let him go alone_.

"Where – when, are we, Ichigo?" Rukia says, a genuine touch of fear entering her voice for the first time.

Ichigo's hand creeps towards hers, but stops before they touch. "Fifty-five years back," he answers shortly, painfully direct.

"How–"

He spares her the questions and fills her in the details about Urahara's promise of a rescue in a few days, his encounter with the captains and their probation status, missing out the key details about bumping into her younger self at night and that grating talk with Byakuya that morning.

At the end of his explanation, he finds Rukia spaced out, staring past him. He assumes that this is due to some post-injury information overload, and gives her a moment to collect herself.

Ichigo is wrong.

What is running through Rukia's mind is the unimaginable possibility that the voice she had just heard conversing with Ichigo was who she thought it was. Fifty-five years was just far back enough.

And along with that possibility, the significance of Ichigo's lie.

Rukia moves so fast, her hands are a blur as she flings the blanket off her in one whiplash motion, hurling it with a _fwap_ into Ichigo's face.

"Mmpfhwah?" Ichigo blurts in shock, clawing at the cloth.

"We're going sparring." Rukia announces with her usual aplomb, flicking her feet under her so she is in a tense crouch.

"What?" Ichigo flounders, trying to keep up and failing. "You're still not one hundred percent, you got hurt pretty badly yesterday, you need to _rest_."

But Rukia has leapt off the bed and closed her tiny hands on Zangetsu's long hilt, feet bracing on the floor as she heaves with all her strength. "Here." She sends the gigantic blade careening towards his face, Ichigo barely able to catch the flat between his palms before the tip crashes into his nose.

Zangetsu gives an audible snicker.

"Get out, I need to change." Rukia's next order is unequivocal. Before Ichigo can so much squeak a protest, small hands have already driven themselves into his back as he is bodily shoved from the room. "Meet me on the training lawn."

She somehow manages to slam a sliding door.

In his face.

Ichigo clutches Zangetsu, staring with a dumfounded look not unlike a kicked puppy.

_Is she mad at me?_ It didn't make sense.

Kaien's reiatsu, tightly bound so as not to alert Rukia of his presence, fluctuates as he tries to reign in his amusement. Ichigo glares malevolently at him.

A flash of hand signals from the roof.

_You – are – so – dead._

Ichigo has to mentally restrain himself from shouting a decidedly uncourteous swear word at the laughing green eyes.

Hefting Zangetsu onto his shoulder – Ossan seeming to share in the joke he doesn't understand – he strides in the direction of the Kuchiki training grounds.

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The warm sunlight, wreathed with the scent of a dozen newly bloomed plum blossoms, glints off the many kenseikan in Kuchiki Byakuya's hair as he paces through the hallways of his house.

It had taken longer than usual to put the hairpieces in that morning, his bandaged hands cumbersome and robbed of their usual delicate grace. As a result, he had nearly, but not quite, been late to work. However, he had refused all help from servants, and they had known better to offer, leaving the clan head to fumble with his black locks himself. It is no secret why he refuses aid in such a simple domestic chore.

Hisana used to put in his kenseikan for him.

Byakuya would not let a servant girl, no matter how handy with the hairpieces, to take the presence of his wife. So he does it himself.

The noble suppresses a sigh. Breakfast with Rukia that morning had been…trying. The arrival of the two strangers from the future had cut off any possibility of even an attempt at rigid conversation between sister and brother. She had barely touched her food, hands fluttering between different utensils – still unused to the etiquette of nobility – and breathed an audible sigh of relief that Byakuya had most definitely heard as he left the table.

Byakuya did not blame her. He knows that he is cold to her, after all, a byproduct of her unsettling likeness to his late wife. Sometimes a tilt of her head would cause his throat to constrict in painful nostalgia, and he would have to excuse himself directly. He knows that it hurts her, often.

His pondering thoughts are brought to an abrupt halt as pattering footsteps around the corner reach his sharp ears.

Rukia flies around the corner, hairpin in her teeth as she brushes her fringe away from her determined eyes, shihakushuo sleeves flapping behind her and Sode no Shirayuki belted securely by her side.

She nearly runs into Byakuya with a muffled yelp, even as he takes in her shorter bob of hair that identifies her as _future_ Rukia. He should have known. The younger version would never have the gall to run in his halls.

"Gomen! Ah, ohayo, Nii-sama!" she cries, bowing quickly. It is not a bow of deep respect bordering on fear such as he is used to. This bow is a residue of formality, done out of habit more so than actual meaning. It is a bow between brother and sister.

Byakuya does not miss the faint nostalgia in her eyes as she takes in his kenseikan and carefully neutral expression.

"Hn." He reaches out to steady her more out of courtesy than anything else.

Her smile falters, worry flashing across her face. What she does next is so unexpected that he almost jerks backwards.

Rukia reaches out and takes his bandaged hands in her own.

Her touch is unbelievably gentle and tender, reminding him of someone else's…

Byakuya's heart aches.

"How did this happen, Nii-sama?" she asks softly, caressing his burnt fingers.

"Zangetsu," he chokes. It does not occur to him to not answer.

Something flares deep within her violet irises. "Ichigo?" The anger is unmistakeable, adding to a grudge already in place.

But the next moment, her voice is gentle again as she admonishes, "Knowing you, you haven't been to Unohana-taichou. You _must_ go, Nii-sama."

Did she just give him an order? It is an order stemming from care – no one has talked to him with that tone since, since…

Rukia looks up at his face and notices that some of the kenseikan are awry. Without any prompting or asking for his permission, she steps into midair so she can reach, showcasing an admirable control over reishi, and touches the hairpieces.

A few deft twists of her fingers before he can voice his dissent pulls the kenseikan into perfect place.

_She's done this before_, Byakuya thinks. Her hands in his hair feel achingly reminiscent of his wife.

It is too much to handle at once, and as Rukia steps back down to ground level, she flinches backwards at his expression.

Byakuya sees the emotions that fly across her visage – _hurt disappointment pain_ – and is forcefully reminded of his conversation with Kurosaki Ichigo in the morning.

_It is not her fault._

He tries to smile, to stop the pain scrolling in her eyes, but it comes out more as a grimace.

The girl looks at him, and understands. She steps backwards once, formally, and bows at the waist. It is a proper bow this time.

"Gomene, Nii-sama," she whispers, "I had forgotten."

And she is gone in a whisper of cloth.

Byakuya swallows past the lump in his throat.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA K)

Kaien lies flat, his stomach pressed against the ridges of the tiled rooftop, peering down at the pacing figure on the training lawn. He grins to himself as he shifts to a more comfortable position – marginally – Nejibana clasped in one hand instead of belted to his waist.

Ichigo has been walking the same ten feet of the training lawn for the past fifteen minutes, his eyebrows sharpened together in a frown of discontent. He displays none of the calm that should be present before any sparring match.

Kaien smothers another round of laughs at the captain's lamentable blindness as to the exact reason for Rukia's sudden wish for a fight.

"Any more of that and he'll plow a new rut for Byakuya's flowers," he says to himself.

An obscenely happy voice sounds right next to his ear. "Yo! Nephew-of-mine!"

Kaien doesn't even blink. He reaches beside him and yanks the offending relative's sleeve downwards.

"Oof," Shiba Isshin pouts, a loose tile jabbing him in the ribs.

"Quiet," Kaien says.

Isshin props his head up on his hands, chewing a blade of grass. "Am I disturbing your perusal of what is clearly a chronic case of teenage-angst-due-to-stupidity? Or am I wrong, and you are merely sunbathing?" He stretches in the bright sunlight, kicking his sandaled feet in the air and flicking the grass stalk at the pacing young man below.

"When are you _ever_ not disturbing anyone, Isshin-nii?" Kaien shoots back, elbowing Isshin in the gut.

Isshin pulls the hem of his captain's haori over his head – looking like a petulant child in the process – but takes on a sudden serious tone as he asks, "So. You have noticed that our new arrival Kurosaki Ichigo is more than he seems? He _does _look very much like you, nephew."

Kaien gives him a glare. "Don't you dare say it."

His uncle puts on an impression of innocence. "Well, it is possible. That boy could as well be my first nephew-once-removed, undergoing the vale of his teenage years without his _daddy's_ guidance, boo hoo hoo –"

"Shut. Up."

Isshin grins.

"Not possible." Kaien answers. "He doesn't know me, we met this morning."

Isshin pouts.

"Then again," Kaien continues, a slow grin spreading, "he might still be a relative. You are not getting any younger, Isshin-nii. Perhaps in the near future you settle down with a nice girl, and the poor boy gets to grow up in the shadow of a sadistic man."

"You're mean."

Kaien shrugs nonchalantly.

Running footsteps approach, and by silent consent both men lie lower to the edge of the roof.

Ichigo looks up just as Rukia steps into the light. He had hoped that the sudden sparring match may have just been a facet of her need to get back into training after her unconscious spell, but one glance is suffice to reveal that it is not true.

There is a definite fire in her eyes now.

Gulping, Ichigo recognizes that fire. It is usually the ominous precursor to a pain-filled punishment.

Rukia is expressionless as she comes to a stop twenty feet in front of him. Ichigo also schools his face into something less resembling fear and more readiness. He tries to, at least.

"Touch and win?" Ichigo calls hopefully, inquiring as to the rules of the spar.

"Death, unconsciousness, or yield," Rukia answers without batting an eyelash.

From up above, immature giggling drifts downwards.

Taichou and fukutaichou bow with smooth grace.

Ichigo sinks into a ready stance, but does not draw Zangetsu.

Rukia draws Sode no Shirayuki with a steely rasp, her fingers lightly playing on its razor-thin edge.

Ichigo clears his throat. "On my count." He is the senior in rank, and so it falls to him to initiate.

Both tense.

"Begin."

* * *

**Please don't hate me for the cliffie! I update regularly anyway and so there really isn't a danger of it hanging there forever. I had to cut it somewhere, and there was the best place. I couldn't have a gigantic 8000 word chapter. So next chapter you get the Shiba boys all together and Rukia kicking Ichigo's butt! Did you like the chapter, anyway? I hope you all enjoyed it :D**

**Please review! As always, it makes me write faster, and I reply to every single review :)**

**Replies to guest reviews:**

**Guest: Haha did you intentionally make the smiley coincide with "Dude"? It made me laugh lots, thank you for reviewing!**

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	4. Chapter 4

**And here you go, an update on the dot! This chapter was fun but tiring to write, but the fantastic review you guys gave me was more than enough to guilt-trip me into writing faster. On a separate note, I received my exam results, which (thanks to God) were very good indeed, and so I am going to Cambridge next year! :D So there – random fact about real life. I had something like thirty reviews last chapter, so I LOVE YOU ALLLLLL!**

**OH AND THANKS TO PEOPLE WHO TOLD ME ISSHIN WAS KAIEN'S UNCLE. I have fixed it :)**

**Special thanks to these reviewers: Phantom Claire, Tango Dancer, laughingspider, Kaihaku No Iroke, izuki-chan, The Blood Moon Rises, brialees, Irishmate, ArsinoetheXXVII, warrior-of-water, Read Love and Review, MugetsuIchigo, pinaygurl28, Tsuki no Yukihime, ilovebks, BosRonald, adamxero, tsukuneXmoka, Kireina-Ame, Orange3WhiteSkew, toradorataiga, ****Hotaru Vie Jaegerjaque, Ru-tama. IF I MISSED SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME TT_TT**

**I don't own Bleach. Hope you like the chapter!**

* * *

_There is a definite fire in her eyes now._

_Gulping, Ichigo recognizes that fire. It is usually the ominous precursor to a pain-filled punishment._

_Taichou and fukutaichou bow with smooth grace._

_Ichigo sinks into a ready stance, but does not draw Zangetsu._

_Rukia draws Sode no Shirayuki with a steely rasp, her fingers lightly playing on its razor-thin edge._

_Ichigo clears his throat. "On my count." He is the senior in rank, and so it falls to him to initiate._

_Both tense._

"_Begin."_

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAK)

The sun hangs solitary at its pinnacled height, seeming to pause at the summit of its daily path across the skies, pillars of dusty, sun-drenched light warming the otherwise chilled winter air, sharpening light and shadow in the streets of Seireitei. In particular, the clouds seem to be inclined to part ways just enough for the whole of the Kuchiki training lawn to be bathed in liquid gold, stage lights, spotlights, for the brilliant demonstration of skill and power yet to be displayed by the taichou and fukutaichou facing each other across the grass.

Above, hidden behind the sloping edge of the tiled roofs, two figures watch in anticipation. Shiba Kaien is interested in how much his protégé has improved in the span of fifty-more years that separates them. Shiba Isshin, on the other hand, looks on with an expression not unlike a child at the movies with a gigantic tub of popcorn and equipped with very little maturity.

Ichigo's sharp command to _begin_ is followed by a half-breath of utter stillness, a moment when everything hangs in flux, brown eyes locked on violet irises, searching, tensing, ready.

Then the moment of timelessness is past, and the world is thrown into a mess of rushing wind and pattering footsteps as Rukia throws herself forward in a dazzling display of near-perfect shunpo, teeth bared in determination and Sode no Shirayuki extended.

Ichigo blinks, caught off guard at Rukia's sudden aggressiveness. In their previous sparring matches, he had always attacked first. But not this time.

_No time to think, baka._

The slim black tip of Sode no Shirayuki is bare inches from the Ichigo's temple when he flings himself backwards in a series of tight backflips, feet skidding through the grass in a curved half-moon as he arrests his retreat.

_This is no normal spar_, Ichigo has time to think before he is forced to shunpo awkwardly to the side as Rukia flips her sword into a reverse grip and descends silhouetted from the sun.

Muffled catcalling and whistles of appreciation emanate from the roofs.

Rukia's lips are pulled back in a murderous scowl, her hair flying back from her face, a deadly fire burning in her eyes as she flows seamlessly from attack to attack, small feet barely seeming to touch the ground as she darts after Ichigo like a cat on the hunt for a mouse.

Ichigo hasn't even drawn Zangetsu yet.

He hasn't had a chance.

"R-Rukia!" Ichigo calls placatingly as the sharp blade slices him thinly on the cheek – _first blood_ – "Can we talk about this? Why are you so angry?"

He gets a vicious roundhouse kick in the gut, which he manages to half deflect, as a response.

"Why–" _Swish-cut. _"are–" _Backhand stab. _"you–" _Another kick to the face. _"doing–" _Sweep kick. _"this?"

Ichigo drops almost flat to the ground as Sode no Shirayuki blazes a lethal arc above his head. A tuck and roll later, he has shunpo-ed to the other side of the clearing in an attempt to earn some breathing space.

"Draw your sword, Ichigo." Rukia's voice is almost toneless, its softness contrasting with the – _disappointed?_ – slant of her eyes.

Up above, the two men press closer to the tiles. "Stupid idiot," Kaien whispers, a touch of anger flitting across his face.

"How so?" Isshin queries past his delighted grin, scratching his beard with one hand and eyes never leaving the scene of the spar.

"This is a fight for honour. Rukia fights to prove herself to a captain that cares too much. And Ichigo does not deign to even draw his zanpakutuo? An insult upon insults." Kaien shakes his head slowly, in half a mind to beat some sense into Ichigo himself if Rukia should fail to _educate_ him on such matters.

Looking down, the pair can see that Ichigo is still blind as ever to the real reason for Rukia's anger, but has drawn his sword with a hint of reluctance, levering into a ready position in front of him.

"Better," Rukia whispers.

An eyeblink later, their swords meet with a harsh grate of steel against steel, sparks flying as they struggle for purchase on the grass. But a heartbeat of this and they are apart again, glorious shunpo combining with ruthless, pure zanjutsu as taichou and fukutaichou duel on swordsmanship alone, not a hint of shikai release appearing.

In between the flashes of metal on metal, shihakushuo sleeves fluttering in the breeze and the pure white of Rukia's gloves on the hilt of her sword, Ichigo doesn't understand.

He doesn't understand why Rukia suddenly wanted this spar.

He doesn't understand why Rukia is so _merciless_ in her attacks.

And he doesn't understand why Rukia looks so hurt and angry and disappointed all at once.

But what he does realise after another half minute of sparring is that if he puts enough pressure on her with a well-timed slash of Zangetsu, her concentration sharpens enough to wash that empty look from her heart-shaped face for a moment.

And that is enough to make Ichigo begin attacking in earnest, his feet blurring into high-powered shunpo and Zangetsu no longer blocking but springing forward in wide, dangerous arcs.

A small twitch of her mouth shows that Rukia has noticed the difference, as she too throws herself back into battle with increased ferocity.

On the roof, Kaien shifts with renewed attention, a gleam of pride in his eyes as he surveys Rukia's skill.

"So they're finally getting serious, eh?" Isshin drawls, picking his teeth with a blade of grass. "We've really got no right, nephew, in eavesdropping on a lover's clash. I'm never one for gossip."

Kaien snorts loudly, not even bothering with a sarcastic reply.

But it really is a masterpiece unfolding below on the grassy field, as the midday light flies and flickers around the two figures, their shadows skipping about their feet, dust motes like brilliant stars across their hair and clothing. The white silk of Ichigo's haori and Rukia's gloves are almost blindingly bright in the sun, whirling and flipping in endless elegance as they parry, return, thrust.

A short while later, both Isshin and Kaien's sharp, war-honed eyes have picked out enough details to make a good judgement on the fight below them.

Ichigo is dazzlingly fast, shunpo refined to such an expert degree that he seems to be in several places at once. His zanpakutuo, although large and unwieldy to stranger's eyes, is a deadly tool in his hands. It is at once shield and sword, its broad blade twisting and regripping in his deft fingers, and of course, due to its length, capable of frightening reach.

Ichigo himself seems to be holding back just a fraction, not that his lightning-fast attacks and adroit footwork is any indicator. But to shinigami versed in war, there is a distinct lack of intensity in Ichigo's gaze that identifies the fact that this is far below the true level of his skill on the battlefield.

But that is to be expected. He is taichou, after all.

Rukia is different. Physically, definitely weaker and smaller, Sode no Shirayuki's length and her diminutive stature making her reach laughable compared to Ichigo's. And although fast, she does not reach the godlike speed that Ichigo displays effortlessly.

But she is winning.

Because, while Ichigo lunges, leaps and pounces, Rukia flips, darts and twists. He fights well. But she _dances_ better. Rukia's feet dance in a neverending pattern of back and forth to an unseen rhythm patterned in the heavens, the crisp winter air fluttering about her sandals, lifting her so she barely seems to brush solid ground. And so while Ichigo moves faster, Rukia moves _less_, Zangetsu coming within a fingerswidth of her skin and shihakushuo as she repeatedly ducks under his guard, sword a deadly lance.

And, leaning forward over the lip of the tiles, Kaien can pick up the unearthly fire that still burns within her violet irises, a telltale sign of her determination where Ichigo has none.

That in itself is a cause for her slowly pressing advantage.

"See that, Uncle?" Kaien murmurs, letting out a long, low whistle of respect and pride as she completes a particularly difficult maneuver, tilting her neck to avoid Zangetsu and landing another thin cut on the inside of Ichigo's wrist.

"Hmm."

So unexpected is this sudden spate of silence from the usually hyperactive Isshin that Kaien tears his eyes from the fight to look at his uncle.

Isshin's eyes are uncharacteristically dark and serious, as he follows every single one of Ichigo's movements, mouth parted in something akin to shock.

"What is it, Uncle?" Kaien asks quickly.

"The brat is interesting." A very short reply.

"How so?"

"Can't you see?" Isshin harrumphs impatiently. "Yoruichi's shunpo. Urahara's zanjutsu. But the brat's _hakuda_…"

The two rebels' names cause Kaien to flinch backwards. But at Isshin's pointed finger, he brings back his line of sight to Ichigo just as the young man performs a perfect twisting backflip and seamlessly merges it into a midair roundhouse.

Kaien's mouth also is in danger of falling open.

"That's –"

"Yes it is."

"That's _your_ hakuda style, Uncle."

Isshin is quietly pensive, his head propped up on both his hands as he studies the young man with increased intensity. He does not answer immediately.

Isshin suddenly reverts back to grinning.

"What." Kaien asks.

"We are no longer the only spectators, my dear nephew. Better go back to hiding, or else someone will whip your hide~"

Kuchiki Byakuya stands silent and still under the shadowed eaves across the lawn, watching.

Kaien sinks lower, until his spiky head of hair and his eyes are all that are visible over the edge. Isshin, having the advantage of possessing the same rank as Byakuya, is not so worried, lounging back in the sun.

By and by, the battle below shifts. The grass, although a tough variety that has withstood generations of Kuchiki training sessions, is already ripped up in various places. The blur of metal and cloth shows no signs of slowing, and Rukia begins to show signs of changing gear.

With a single, controlled pulse of reiatsu, Rukia pushes Ichigo backwards, clear to the other side of the lawn. It is not meant to injure, merely to give herself some space, and Ichigo quickly finds purchase on the ground.

A second's pause.

Rukia holds out her sealed zanpakutuo, an expression of reverent calm on her face, eyes closed.

Kaien sits up, clutching Nejibana with suddenly tense fingers. "Here we go," he breathes excitedly.

Shifting her weight back, Rukia slowly turns her sword counter-clockwise. The world stills, the winter air seeming to sharpen and relax in paradoxical beauty; there is a gentle sigh as the wind caresses her raven hair, flowing down her blade.

Rukia's snaps her eyes open.

"Mae, Sode no Shirayuki."

The air breathes with her breath, and her zanpakutuo is transformed into a pure vision of white, ribbon streaming gracefully from its hilt, matching her gloves.

Isshin blinks. He quips, "That is one pretty blade–"

A seismic shift in the air as a blast of frigid wind rushes in all directions, slamming into the two men hiding on the roof mercilessly, driving all breath from their lungs.

Byakuya, on the sidelines, is also caught unawares, and grasps his haori tighter to himself as he shields his eyes.

Ichigo winces, upping his reiatsu in response. "Can we talk now, Rukia?" he tries in vain.

Rukia gives him a look that could have caused small children to weep and have a neurotic breakdown on the spot.

_Ouch._

Ichigo tries not to flinch, and forces himself to concentrate, shifting his center of gravity lower to the ground. Shikai is a whole new playing field, he should be careful–

Rukia all but disappears into thin air in a blinding flash of white.

_Oh crap._

Zangetsu barely manages to catch the roaring edge of the next attack, Ichigo struggling to parry as he, too, enters overdrive and pours his reiatsu into shunpo. His mind whirls into similar frantic thought, assessing his options. He could shove her away with reiatsu, or some low-level hado, but at this range and speed he could send her smashing into any of the walls surrounding the garden, risking serious injury.

Ichigo just can't bring himself to. If it was Renji he was sparring, sure. If it was Byakuya, doubly sure – with him he would have done it already. But to Rukia – no, the image of her slumped in a bloody heap by a wall – just…_no_.

And so he defends relentlessly, unable to force himself to fight back.

Above, Kaien's trained eyes flit back and forth. Across the lawn, curved, beautiful ridges of delicate ice trace the almost invisible path that Rukia had carved into the grass, explaining her sudden increase in speed. Every shunpo is now calculated, and accelerated, along the frictionless spikes of ice that trail her feet.

She is skating on ice, and he is stumbling on grass.

Ichigo's hands blur in an impossibly fast chain of blocks as he grits his teeth in effort. Rukia remains impassively calm.

Beside Kaien, Isshin twitches. Both men sense that if pushed further, Ichigo would either fall or respond with shikai. Either way, the battle has reached a dangerous climax.

The moment arrives.

Ichigo sweeps his back foot behind him as he flicks Zangetsu's tip forward, changing his grip to a two-handed hold. Isshin leans forward in anticipation.

Rukia flicks a finger at Ichigo's foot, and the smallest ridge of ice springs into existence behind his heel.

Ichigo trips. He falls backwards, trying to regain his balance.

Rukia smiles, a lethal grin.

"Some no mai, Tsukishiro!"

Kaien sucks in a breath. _White moon._

An explosion of snow and ice, curled ribbons of glacial air somersaulting into the sky. For an instant, it is impossible to breathe. Isshin grins, Kaien looks on in wonder, Byakuya actually shows _emotion_.

The snow-frost evaporates, and Rukia steps elegantly towards her trapped quarry, the fingers on one hand gracefully twisted in the direction of the towering column of ice that encases Ichigo's right ankle. One glance from a bystander is suffice to tell that this hand is the only thing keeping the whole structure from collapsing and crushing her captain with it.

Ichigo looks like a rabbit stuck with its foot in a fence and a carrot on its head.

Rukia comes steadily closer. Ichigo chips away at his foot with a muffled sound of fear.

Rukia stops twenty feet from him. Their eyes meet. For a second Ichigo thinks he sees compassion, or mercy in those violet depths, but his silly little dream is quashed a moment later.

"Tsuki no mai," Rukia says, almost in a bored tone, dipping her sword into the ground. Kaien practically glows with excitement.

Ichigo looks like a rabbit stuck in a fence with a farmer armed with a shotgun coming its way.

"Haku–"

A shift in the reiatsu that lines the world, the dimension, the air itself. Ichigo taps his sword with a single finger, and a trail of blue fire – no, water – no, it _is_ fire, shimmers down the blade in a ferocious wave, blasting into the ice and continuing onwards.

Isshin makes a choked noise. The attack was controlled with a _finger_ – an indication of its careful restriction in power. But the overwhelming familiarity that the reiatsu emits…

"Getsuga. Tenshou," Isshin whispers.

But beside him, Kaien has scrambled to his feet as the blue arc of reiatsu cuts the tower of ice in two and slams into the surprised form of Kuchiki Rukia, taking her off her feet and throwing her across the lawn.

Byakuya starts forward despite himself. Kaien makes ready to leap down into the courtyard.

Ichigo beats them to it. "Rukia!" The choked exclamation is rife with terror, and remorse, and shame, and pained devotion. The young man is suddenly next to her, the true brilliancy of his shunpo revealed in that one step.

His hands shake as he desperately reaches towards her shoulder, _whathaveIdone, Ishouldhavekeptherinherroom…_

Rukia shoves him back off of her, eyes blazing, with inordinate strength for someone her size. Ichigo stumbles, landing hard on his backside.

"I AM SICK OF THIS, ICHIGO!" Rukia has finally found her tongue. All traces of supernatural calm are gone from her face. "I AM YOUR FUKUTAICHOU, NOT A WEAK HELPLESS GIRL WHO NEEDS TO BE SHELTERED, AND YOU _LIED_ ABOUT TALKING WITH KAIEN-DONO, YOU-YOU-"

A string of insults painful enough to make Ichigo cringe internally explodes across the clearing, stopping Byakuya in his tracks. Kaien winces.

_Ouch_, Ichigo thinks, cowering under her immense anger.

But Rukia is not done. "I am your SHINIGAMI PARTNER, you idiot excuse for a CAPTAIN, and you treat me like a FRAGILE WAIF–"She strides towards him, leaving Sode no Shirayuki in the grass.

Her hands are in kido-ready position.

A firework-display of red flame and rising smoke. Ichigo sprawls, face in the dirt.

Hado 31, Shakkaho. No incantation.

"I have MASTERY of shikai, _near-mastery_ of kido, MERE MONTHS FROM BANKAI–"

White-hot lightning, fired like a stream of hellfire from one small finger, hitting Ichigo square in the backside, eliciting a yowl of pain.

Hado 4, Byakurai. No incantation, either.

"– and do I deserve some RESPECT, BAKAMONO!" Rukia screams at him. But her voice breaks, and her violet gaze is swimming in wetness, now. She stops, taking a deep, calming breath. Her hands tremble, and she lowers them.

Ichigo rolls over, groaning, to his hands and knees. He lifts his head, just as the first betraying tear rolls down the curve of her cheek. This stuns him like a punch to the chest. He wets his lips with a tongue dry as sand.

"Rukia." Ichigo is contrite, apologetic, pleading. "Rukia." He doesn't know what else to say. But a sudden heat on his right side turns his attention away. He gasps.

His taichou haori is burning.

Ichigo shrugs it off and smothers it into the grass, spreading it out afterwards to reveal a ragged gash, still smoldering, all along the hemline.

A wound to his mark as taichou.

But that doesn't matter now. Ichigo lets the haori go, turning to face Rukia again. She has a hand over her mouth as she stares at the ruined cloth. He opens his mouth–

And Rukia takes the pained look in his eyes as anger, as her fukutaichou's badge gleams iridescent in the sun, perfect while his haori is blackened by her doing.

Her face closes, and she turns and runs.

"No, Rukia!" Ichigo calls after her in vain – but she is already gone.

Ichigo puts his head down to the grass, hands fisted in his hair. He curses himself quietly, coldly, fiercely.

The spectators retreat discreetly. Ichigo is left curled into a ball on the empty training grounds, cursing himself.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAK)

Rukia sits on the wooden edge of the covered verandah overlooking the plum trees, bare feet playing in the sparse, wintry grass. Her short hair veils the look in her eyes as her fingers grip the loose sides of her shihakshuo, left hand unconsciously looking to rest on the hilt of Sode no Shirayuki.

But her small fingers brush naught but cloth. She had left her sword, her training partner, on the sparring lawn. Along with Ichigo.

Rukia shuts her eyes with a sigh. Perhaps she deserves the solitude. Since the beginning, she could always read Ichigo like an open book. But not this time. Rukia can still remember his face as he looked up at her, the first time she found herself doubting what lay in his warm brown gaze.

She had run. She was frightened of what was, or could be, there in Ichigo's eyes. Was it anger? Hatred? If not that, then what?

A rustle of wind opens her eyes again. There are many more plum blossoms now, adorning the bare branches of the trees in the garden. One silvery pink petal drifts down and lands on her nose. She goes cross-eyed looking down at it.

A hand, well-callused under years of training, reaches into her field of vision and plucks the petal off her nose. She knows that hand. Rukia turns to scowl at Ichigo – she _hasn't_ forgiven him yet –

And looks into the not chocolate brown, but sea-green eyes of Shiba Kaien.

"Yo, Kuchiki," he says mildly, a smile playing around his lips.

Her heart flutters, the world spins. The edges of her vision darken. But strong hands are on her shoulders, supporting her until she breathes again, and stares openly at this long-awaited ghost.

"I was going to honour my promise to Kurosaki, you know, about waiting until you seek me out, but then you looked like you needed to talk to someone, hmm?" Kaien says, folding his long limbs into a relaxed slouch next to her diminutive form.

Rukia continues staring, trying to impress his image, his eyes, his hair into her memory, breathing in the way he talks, and tries to make a sound. Kaien smiles and waits for her to master herself.

"H-Hi," she squeaks, eventually, an echo of their past introduction.

Kaien frowns in a mock-scolding sort of way – she cringes – but then he shrugs, reaching out and tapping a fingernail on her fukutaichou badge. "I can't pull rank on you anymore, Kuchiki." He tilts his head.

"K-Kaien-dono…" The _name_ itself is rusty from disuse.

Clicking his tongue, Kaien admonishes, "Now, now Kuchiki, you were admirably eloquent just now when you were scolding your taichou, and now you stammer when talking to a fukutaichou?" He is gentle, cajoling.

"No, Kaien-dono."

"Better. Now try for some variance in vocabulary."

Rukia smiles despite herself.

He smiles back, and holds it as he asks his next question. "I gathered from Kurosaki that…something…happened between us in the future."

She clams up, arms trying to hug herself, eyes glazed over from a forbidden memory. She nods once, a jerk of her head.

Kaien sighs deeply. Better to get it over with, instead of leaving it hanging there. He begins to speak, but Rukia beats him to it.

"Where…is the other Rukia?" she asks, staring away from him and at the opposite wall.

"She's training on an all-day trip with Miyako." Kaien can tell that Rukia is trying to change the subject. He knows her well enough to read the signs.

Kaien sits up, and injects a bit of command into his tone. "Rukia. Look at me." She slowly, slowly swivels, trembling incessantly, until she meets his eyes. "Did something bad happen to me?" he asks, painfully direct.

Rukia's breath cuts off in a strangled choke. She twitches, and tries to look away.

Kaien stops her. "No, don't do that. I'll take that as a yes." He takes a deep breath before he decides to plunge off the final proverbial cliff. "I'm not stupid, Kuchiki. Did I…die?"

Rukia tears her gaze from him and buries her face into her knees, covering her ears.

It seems to Kaien like a wave of cold ice has tipped over his head. So he does die, then. And soon – Kurosaki had specified an old wound for Rukia. Does he leave Miyako? Is it a good death? Was he honourable to the end?

But he cannot ask any more, not with Rukia rocking back and forth in that tight little bundle that she has made herself into. Kaien does not know, nor does he understand, the rush of images that run through her head – that _arrancar_ using his face, the rain mixing with blood on leaves.

Strong arms encircle Rukia, trying to comfort. Instead, she gets a terrifying flashback to the moment her sword buried into his robes, into his _flesh_, and the rain coming down and the blood over her hands and the smell of it, washing over her in waves of guilt and horror and misery and pain, and his voice telling her it was okay, and his voice getting _weaker_ and _softer_ and _why were his hands falling_ and denial and _myfaultmyfaultmyfault_ with every one of her heartbeats that thudded in the sudden stillness when his stopped…

Rukia shoves Kaien back much as she did to Ichigo, reeling.

And then the arms come back, holding her close so she can hear his heart, still beating. "It's not your fault, Kuchiki." The voice is gruff, awkward, but sure. "No matter what you think, it's not your fault."

Her tears are making his front wet. "But it _was_," she whispers.

Kaien hears. "No, it wasn't," he says emphatically. "You have a taichou that cares for you. You managed to get a seated position. Shinigami don't have that unless they serve the Gotei well. How many times today to I have to tell you that I'm not stupid? I can tell it wasn't your fault, no matter what happened."

Somehow, hearing that said from his lips is like a cathartic release. Many others – brother, friend, captain – had told her the same thing before. But hearing it from Kaien-dono is different.

And now _she _is shoved back into a sitting position, and Kaien smoothes down the front of his shihakushuo with an embarrassed look. Rukia looks mortified.

"I'm sorry," she gasps, bowing her head. Nobody can tell whether she is apologizing for the close contact or for the self-imposed guilt at his death.

"And that's the Kuchiki I'm used to seeing." Kaien smiles, "For a moment in that sparring match I thought that the girl I knew had became a concentrated version of her kickbutt-ness." This elicits a weak laugh from Rukia. "But here you are, as much like yourself as I expected. I'm happy to see you, Kuchiki."

Rukia can meet his eyes again, albeit waveringly. "I'm happy to see you too, Kaien-dono." The pain is not all gone, not close to it, but it has eased slightly. Kaien can do that. She had forgotten.

Kaien shifted closer to her, crossing his legs comfortably. "So," he begins teasingly, "_Mastery_ of shikai, eh?"

Rukia blushes crimson. "Um," she tries, "well, I have been using shikai for half a century now, so…"

"_Mai_, is your command word, eh? So how many 'dances' does Sode-chan have?" Kaien brushes past her humility.

"Three," Rukia mumbles with just a hint of pride.

"And you beat your captain with just one of them." Kaien is teasing again, but in a nice way. He knows how to get her out of her shell. He was always like that.

"He was holding back. Severely. And I was angry." A shudder of guilt passes through her, and she very nearly retreats back into her mask again.

Kaien stretches. "Well," he yawns, "it sure looked like you whopped his backside good. He deserved that, if he didn't respect his subordinates. A captain like that does not deserve his title."

The sudden attack on Ichigo's honour brings Rukia sharply back to attention. Kaien gives her an innocent look – he was defending her actions, after all. But she is on the defensive, for her captain's sake. "Ichigo isn't like that. He _does_ respect his subordinates."

"You said – very loudly, by the way – that he doesn't," Kaien points out.

Rukia opens her mouth – and then shuts it again. She glares then, the first full glare that she had managed since their meeting. "You're manipulating again," she accused, poking him in the shoulder.

Kaien smirks, looking smug. He is a bit _too_ smug, though, expecting that this Rukia is as timid as the one he knows. He is wrong, obviously.

He gets a smarting punch in the gut.

He doesn't know whether it is the fact that it empties him of all breath or the look of contrite horror on Rukia's face that sets him off laughing. But laugh he does.

"I pity Kurosaki," he finally comments, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Rukia stews silently where she is, picking at sparse bits of grass in her lap.

"He is a good captain," Kaien says finally. She looks up at this. "And I'm sure he will – and has – done a fine good job of taking my place." Rukia narrows her eyes. Kaien holds up his hands in surrender. "I mean, he's going to take good care of midgets named Kuchiki."

Rukia doesn't reply. Kaien lets it sink in on its own. They sit in a comfortable sort of silence, the half-century gap between them dissolving to almost – almost – nothing. The sun continues to move on its predetermined track in the heavens. They talk about lighter things, things that have nothing to do with his death or her life after. It is easier, that way. Pretending that it is a normal off day from shinigami duties, ignoring what is unsaid. The future, the past.

Rukia weaves the grass in her lap, trying to keep her thoughts straight as she tries to stay awake. The spar with Ichigo had taken more out of her than she showed openly, considering that she had lost a significant amount of blood barely twenty-four hours ago.

She had missed Kaien-dono.

He had a way of making her stop her habit of hiding within herself when she was unsure. And when she made a mistake, he either pointed it out straightforwardly to her face, or positioned her gently to figure it out herself – like he just did with Ichigo. It was such a relief to talk to him again, to see him laugh and laugh with him, to pretend for a little while that he is still alive and she would see him again the next day, and he wouldn't turn back into a ghost.

Rukia tries not to think about that.

But she can't _not_ think about that, not when he speaks and she can hear his voice. So she grows quieter and quieter as the hours pass, the storm once again brewing in her heart, thundering and whirling. The tears are coming again, prickling in the back of her eyes so she can't make our Kaien-dono's face properly. And she can't sob into his shoulder – he's married, and it doesn't make sense to sob about someone next to that someone. And she is really, really tired. And she misses Sode no Shirayuki. And she misses…yeah.

Just as she thinks she can't take it any longer, different hands are scooping her up into strong arms, and she blearily wonders why the sky is getting dark. The arms hold her tight, and her face rubs against a haori that smells like grass and lightning, soft enough and warm enough to cry properly into. So she does, very quietly, hoping no one sees. The arms just hold her tighter, and someone strokes her hair.

"Worn out." Kaien half-smiles at Ichigo as he, too, rises.

"Aa. She shouldn't have sparred today. It was my fault." A vague sense of deep guilt and anger at self.

"Are you offended that I broke my promise?" Kaien asks.

"It's better to get it over with. She needed that, thank you." There is no accusation in Ichigo's voice.

Kaien accepts this. "Take care of her, will you?" he says, looking Ichigo straight in the eye.

Ichigo nods deeply. "Of course. I will." It is a pure statement of fact, ironclad, determined.

The two men bid farewell to each other on equal terms.

And then Rukia is being carried away, swaying sleepily in Ichigo's arms, sniffing once in a while against the white of his haori. Here is the person that she can sob into, the one she can rely on not to turn into a ghost.

The door to her room is suddenly there, and she mumbles something into his chest.

"Hmm?" Ichigo asks, bending his head over her.

"I'm – _sniff_ – sorry."

Ichigo's laugh rumbles by her ear from above and through his chest. "No, I'm sorry, Rukia," he says softly. _For many things._

Another mumble that sounds vaguely like an insult.

Ichigo laughs again.

He tucks her in carefully, and asks whether she would like him to stay. She nods faintly, and so he draws the chair next to her bed again.

The sky turns dusky, then inky twilight, then dark sable.

Ichigo is dozing, when a soft call wakes him.

"Ichigo."

"Yeah, midget?"

"Can't we save Kaien-dono? We could change things so easily."

He picks his words with care. "You know the answer to that."

"I know. But I want to."

A sigh. "Aizen was defeated by a thread. I met you by a thread."

A sniff.

"I know, Rukia. Go to sleep." The last bit is almost a command again, but somehow still tender.

"…Okay."

* * *

**I am totally shattered right now. That was one difficult chapter to write. Angst comes from the soul, you know – the writer's! I hope you guys really liked it, and that the change in the way Kaien and Rukia interacted was believable considering that Rukia is so much more experienced and older now. And I hope it was COMPLETELY clear that Kaien and Rukia did NOT have a romantic relationship.**

**Please review! It really, really cheers me up and I need that after going through that writing process :) **

**Replies to guest reviews:**

**Guest: Thank you so much for reviewing! Please sign with a name so I can thank you properly next time :D**

**ej: Thanks, I fixed it. :)**

**Pieces of Red: Cool name, by the way. Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it so much and I hope you liked this chapter too!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi, I'm back! I'm sorry that this is a day or two late, the main reason for this is that this chapter ended up quite long. As in a thousand words longer than usual :) So I hope you'll all forgive me for the slight delay? I've got to thank all of you anyway, this fic is getting close to 100 reviews. ONE HUNDRED. In four chapters! I love love love all of you, who reviewed, favourited, followed.**

**Special thanks to reviewers: chappi, Kaihaku no Iroke, Pieces of Red, adamxero, warrior-of-water, Read Love and Review, laughinspider, Irishmate, Phantom Claire, Eradona, brialees, MerryKitten, mypupps1, MugetsuIchigo, Tsuki no Yukihime, Guest, Kireina-Ame, Ru-tama, Hotaru Vie Jaegerjaquez, Debido, uzuki-chan, WarriorofAnime, ilovebks.**

**Oh, one last thing. I ran into a flamer who decided to make highly sexist and inappropriate comments about Rukia. Please, if you don't like it, it's okay with me, I'm not a perfect writer. BUT NO SEXISM IS ALLOWED HERE. Got that, hornet07?**

**AND Brilliant Art for "Plum Blossoms of a Past Winter" drawn by MugetsuIchigo (THANK YOU!)**

heiqi-yihu deviantart com/art/No-Chappy-384731891?ga_submit_new=10%253A1373587700&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1&ga_recent=1

**I don't own, I LOVE YOU ALL, hope you like the chapter!**

* * *

Before the first rays of wintry sunlight dance and flicker over the tiles of the Kuchiki mansion, when the sky has not quite decided whether it wants to be day or night, light or dark, and settles on a deep, penetrating blue, servants are already scrambling back and forth on their specific duties.

The plum trees in the walled garden creak in the early morning air, yawning into lucidity as the plum blossoms that bloomed in the darkness of night stretch to catch the trickles of sunlight.

The servants are silent in their haste, bustling back and forth from kitchen to dining room, the sliding doors of which are drawn backwards so as to let the light, and the fragrant scent of the plum blossoms, waft over the pinewood floor. All must be in order, all must be perfect before the master wakes.

Breakfast in the Kuchiki household is a formidable affair.

Notwithstanding the fact that nobility take the first meal of the day in a far more reserved way than the children in Rukongai undoubtedly do, and _definitely_ more proper than the rowdy mess halls of the Eleventh Division – where more food ends up thrown than eaten – breakfast for the Kuchiki is an aristocratic event indeed.

The servants are, by now, used to the silently awkward, empty breakfasts between Kuchiki Byakuya-sama and Rukia-sama. Such has it been every morning since the death of Hisana-sama.

The ones that set the table are used to placing two sets of chopsticks and bowls a certain distance apart – quite far. The ones that stand behind the table and serve are used to seeing little or no interaction between the supposed siblings. The ones that clear up afterwards, under orders of the kindly matron of the kitchens, always hang back for a while longer than is discreetly correct, for the servants know that Rukia-sama hardly ever eats more than a bite in the presence of her brother.

This is the way, the early morning routine, of the Kuchiki household.

But today is different.

Today, two _guests_ are eating with the family.

This means chaos, as the servants struggle to adapt. _Four_ sets. More serving girls. An extra pair of servants is dispatched to guide the guests to the dining hall.

Such as it is, the last servant brushes down the front of his pristine white robes and steps carefully to his place beside the sliding doors just as Kuchiki Byakuya sweeps elegantly into the dining hall, bare feet padding silently on the wooden floor, hair immaculate in kenseikan, face expressionless. A thick winter haori drapes over his shoulders to guard against the early morning cold.

All bow on his entry. He barely acknowledges this, lowering himself down in his customary place at the table.

A servant darts soundlessly forward and fills his teacup, curls of opalescent steam rising from the rim.

Barely thirty seconds later, the pit-pat of approaching feet announces the arrival of Rukia-sama, timed perfectly as she does each morning. The servants step back as she appears, shoulder-length hair slightly messy, already in her work clothes and without any extra coat to guard against the chill. Byakuya notices this, and makes to open his mouth, but then shuts it again before anyone sees.

Rukia pauses at the edge of the room, and kneels somewhat awkwardly, shuffling into the room on her knees. Such as is proper. Lesser members of the clan should not stand when their superior is sitting. She settles by her seat, eyeing the extra sets of cutlery nervously, then flicking her gaze to Byakuya's inscrutable face.

"O-Ohayo, Nii-sama." A mouse-squeak of a greeting.

Byakuya dips his head in reply, a movement small enough that most would miss. Rukia quickly looks back down again, fingers twisting together as she realises that he hasn't started eating yet. So she cannot start either.

The silence is deafening. Byakuya sips his tea placidly. Rukia tries to stop her stomach from rumbling.

Then the sound of rapidly arriving voices breaks almost rudely into the quiet.

"And _be polite_, for heaven's sake, bakamono!"

"I can't promise anything, midget."

"Ichigo – _no_, for the last time, I'm not cold!"

"You're still recovering, I am _not_ letting my fukutaichou get pneumonia on my watch. It's winter here. Take it. It's an order."

"How about _you_, then? Won't you be cold?"

"I can handle it. Now take the thing."

There is an outraged huff as the two servants leading the pair enter the dining hall, expressions of suppressed amusement on their usually stoic faces. And behind them, bickering loudly, follow Kuchiki Rukia and Kurosaki Ichigo, both also dressed in their shihakushuo.

This Rukia, having apparently just lost the argument, blows a stray strand of her fringe off her face as she draws Ichigo's taichou haori closer around her shoulders. Her short stature combined with his haori gives a startling image of a girl wrapped in a soft white blanket. Ichigo, walking behind, tugs the haori further upwards so that the wind cannot fly into the gap between her neck and the cloth.

Byakuya raises his eyebrows.

The younger Rukia stares openly at this show of protective affection. Her older counterpart seems oblivious to this, not bothering with entering on her knees and striding across the room, plopping down into her cushion to Byakuya's right. Ichigo saunters after her, folding himself down next to her with a relaxed sigh.

"Yo, Byakuya," Ichigo half-yawns, nodding at younger Rukia as well. The servants look scandalized. Younger Rukia is aghast.

"Ohayo, Nii-sama!" Rukia says clearly in what all the servants deem a criminally happy tone. Or perhaps they are just unused to guests being so disrespectful.

"Hn." Byakuya dips his head again, albeit a bit lower. If Rukia is disappointed with his reaction, she does not show it, although her back straightens imperceptibly. Usually, her ni-sama would smile gently, and greet her back. But since that profoundly hurtful encounter in the corridor yesterday, she has already steeled herself mentally against any slight that her brother might show against her.

The younger Rukia remembers her manners, and says quietly, "Ohayo." Rukia gives her a reassuring smile in return, remembering how withdrawn she used to be at this time. The younger girl shifts, encouraged, warming up to a small smile back.

Byakuya is studying his tea intently, trying not to look at Rukia. This new Rukia is so inexpressibly _Rukia_, and yet the absence of timidity and the newfound gentle confidence reminds him of Hisana. And after that…_display_ of emotion yesterday when he was ill prepared for the waves of painful nostalgia caused by the sudden appearance of this Rukia, Byakuya is determined to get through this breakfast without giving her a single glance. He must not look up.

THWACK.

Byakuya looks up.

Ichigo rubs his sore red knuckles, wincing ruefully and dropping the ladle of congee that he had reached for.

Rukia lowers her chopsticks – held in her hand like the handle of a sword – and admonishes, "Nii-sama hasn't started yet. _You _know better."

Byakuya is politely astonished. But he has no time to appreciate the censure of that impertinent young man, because Rukia fixes him a corresponding look.

That look is wonderfully crafted. It conveys respect, understanding, a touch of pity, but also _I'm-hungry-here-so-start-eating-Nii-sama_, and adds a _please_ on the end.

Byakuya coughs, and takes a spoon of porridge.

"Finally," Ichigo sighs in relief, digging in heartily.

Rukia spares him an exasperated look, then also reaches for the ladle, serving a generous dollop into a bowl and handing it to her extremely surprised younger self. The younger Rukia spends a half-second staring blankly at her, before scrambling forward to take the porridge with both hands.

Their hands brush each other for the briefest moment, and she jerks her hands back reflexively, spilling scalding hot porridge onto her fingers. An unbidden gasp of pain escapes her lips even as she buries her hand in a tea towel, wiping off the hot liquid.

Ichigo stops eating, concerned. Byakuya, on the other hand, feels a hot rush of something resembling _worry_ flash through the empty space that used to be his heart, as his ears echo with a long-dead whisper of his wife's frequent cries of pain due to her long illness. He leans forward despite himself, but then the girl looks up from her hand and her pale face is _not_ Hisana. In an eyeblink, Byakuya clamps down on the emotion in his soul with terrifying intensity, dissolving his misplaced worry into anger at his own self, his own weakness.

The anger shows on his face.

"Gomen-Gomenesai!" the young Rukia manages, bowing her head close to the mat. Too late, Byakuya realises that she might have interpreted his anger to be directed at her, and allows his usual façade of indifference wash over his features. But the damage is done. She folds her hurt fingers under her small hand, head lowered.

"I'm sorry, it was my fault," Rukia breaks in crisply, giving Byakuya a fleeting, hard look of disappointment. "Are you alright?" She asks the cowed girl.

"Hai…Nee-sama?" The girl is unsure how to address Rukia.

Rukia accepts this new title with a comforting smile, although she inwardly winces at the honorific. Was she really like this five decades ago? _It's like I'm a completely different person._

With a rustle of cloth, Byakuya rises gracefully from his place, winter haori brushing the floor about his ankles as he strides with effortless elegance out of the dining hall. He doesn't look back. The servants hurry to bow as his ebony hair disappears around the corner.

The tension in the air relaxes palpably into a breathless sort of relief.

"Always the awfully approachable guy," Ichigo comments offhandedly into the sudden silence, slurping his bowl clean. But his other hand reaches for Rukia's, offering comfort in the sudden stillness. He can tell by the tenseness in her shoulders that Byakuya's coldness affects her more than she is willing to show. So her strokes her delicate fingers while pointedly looking in another direction, wrapping her small hand in his larger one, to show that he is there for her without intruding too much. Her fingers clench in his, momentarily, in grateful response.

Sitting alone across the mat, the other Rukia pulls out her blistered hand from cover and studies it with a detached sort of hopelessness. Abruptly, she looks Rukia in the eye. Her words come in an unpremeditated rush of desperation. "Does it ever get better? Or will it be like this forever?" Her eyes are pleading.

Rukia looks at her for a moment. Then she gently takes her hand out from under Ichigo's, hiding her arm back within the voluminous folds of the white haori that drapes over her shoulders. "Ichigo," she suddenly declares, tone businesslike, "Go somewhere else for a while."

"What?" Ichigo asks in confusion, frowning.

"What I said. I'll see you later, alright?" She softens it with a smile.

Ichigo looks at her, then at the other Rukia, and a modicum of understanding dawns. "Alright," he says equally softly, rising smoothly and placing a hand briefly on her shoulder. "Take care of yourself." There is a double meaning in those words, and also a gentle warning not to reveal too much.

"Hm." Rukia nods, eyes following him until he disappears from sight.

She turns to her other self, who is looking at this exchange with a hidden flare of jealousy, and smiles. "Now," Rukia says, "why don't we go somewhere more private to talk?" She hooks an elbow around the arm of her counterpart and steps out into the winter chill, holding the haori closer around her.

Behind them, the servants wordlessly start clearing up the almost non-eaten breakfast, bar Ichigo's portion, keeping their opinions to themselves.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAK)

Zangetsu stands, a silent sentinel over the sprawled form of Ichigo, the sword buried tip down in the grass next to his head. The ribbon on the hilt trails absently into the tufts of his orange hair, watching over the sleeping captain.

When dismissed by Rukia, Ichigo had collected Zangetsu then wandered into one of the Kuchiki complex's many gardens, searching for a sunny spot. He hadn't had much sleep over the past two nights, a consequence of resting in a hardwood chair and bending his neck protectively over a slumbering Rukia. So after he found a suitable sun-kissed spot of green grass, specifically measured to ensure that the patch would stay in the bright winter sunlight for at least the next two hours, he had promptly dropped onto the soft improvised bed like a puppet with its strings cut, and snored away.

An indeterminate amount of time passes. The encroaching shadows cast by the garden wall gently creep closer to him, almost touching the curled fingers of a hand cast out carelessly to the side.

Then, across the sunlit garden, another shadow appears, this one curious, careful. The shadow tiptoes forward, walking an inch above the grass so that no tremors will alert the young man to his presence. It stops just before the edge of shade touches him, and the man casting the shadow gives a very loud and undignified snort at Ichigo's awkward sleeping position.

Shiba Isshin successfully stifles the sound with the back of one hand, amused hoots of laughter escaping through his fingers.

Stretched out on the grass, Ichigo mumbles in incoherent dreamspeak, a line of drool dripping from a corner of his mouth. "Ruki-mmfh.." He rolls over, half of his face buried in his sleeve.

Isshin raises his eyebrows, filing this information in the section labeled _potential blackmail material_ with a grin. The boy is so _very_ interesting. The spar yesterday with his fukutaichou had revealed several key similarities between the boy's fighting style and Isshin's own. There is definitely something more about the boy, and the current captain of the Tenth Division is not the kind to sit around patiently for answers.

Slipping one hand into his shihakushuo, Isshin produces a long, fluffy feather. A fluffy feather, of course, is not normally something that one finds hidden on the person of any captain of the Gotei 13. But this is Isshin. And Isshin is not normal.

Sneaking around to the optimum angle so that the sun will not cast his shadow on Ichigo's face, Isshin reaches forward tantalisingly with the feather, aiming for the boy's nose –

Zangetsu's ribbon unfurls with a tight _snap_ and wraps tightly around Isshin's wrist, stopping his motion.

"Ah," Isshin breathes, unperturbed, even though the silk is bound tight enough to be painful. He simply transfers the subject of his childish grin from the sleeping boy to his zanpakutuo, and says clearly in a singsong voice, "I'm not going to hurt him, I promise~" His tone is laughing, but his eyes are honest.

A pause, then the ribbon retracts slowly, leaving a bruised ring on Isshin's wrist, curling somewhat protectively into Ichigo's hair again. Isshin takes this as a signal to go for it. Tongue stuck between his teeth, he maneuvers the fluffy white barbs of the feather to the boy's nose, and starts tickling with superb skill and a certain degree of experience.

"Mmmh," Ichigo complains, flinging his arm in Isshin's direction – Isshin pulls back neatly – and rubbing his nose with the other. His eyelids flutter, before stilling. He gives another, louder snore.

Tickle. Tickletickletickletickle. A line appears between Ichigo's brows as he winces in unconscious annoyance. He shifts again.

Tickle. Tickletickle. Isshin is struggling not to laugh now.

Tickle. Tickle –

Isshin, unable to hold back, snorts loud enough to wake an elephant from a coma.

The sound, carved as if in stone on the tableaus and dreamscapes of Ichigo's mind as "the prelude to pain", "Dad's version of an alarm clock", and, more simply, "CRAP IS COMING", startles the young man to wakefulness instantaneously. Ichigo reacts much like he would if he woke to discover fifty hollows clustered outside his bedroom window.

Ichigo's amber-brown eyes fly open. He springs from his prone position into a remarkably executed double combo of jab to the face and flying 360-degree spin kick to the solar plexus. Isshin flies in a beautiful arc across the garden, blood spurting from his nose. The whole combination is pure reflex, and Ichigo is not truly awake even as his sandaled feet land soundlessly on the grass. "ITAI NANI GA, OYAJ-"

Ichigo jerks himself short as his memory catches up to his surroundings. Zangetsu's ribbon dances in the wind.

Isshin peels himself off the ground for the second time in three days. "Owieeee," he moans, holding the bridge of his nose, "not the nose _again_…Did I raise you to be this violent towards innocent, harmless beings?" The last bit is a hidden trap.

Ichigo does not miss the underlying assumption, and his heart contracts at its significance. _Does he know?_ He finds Isshin still staring at him under the cover of his hand, and shoots back an irritable, and neutral, "You deserved it."

Wiping his nose petulantly with one hand, Isshin fingers the edge of his haori with a sulky whine. "You made me get blood on my haori!" He clambers to his feet and walks towards Ichigo.

Ichigo eyes him warily, trying to find a way to get out of the impending conversation. "What do you want?" he says cooly. He cannot allow Isshin to garner any more information – the situation is dangerous enough as it is.

A wide, supposedly innocent – not so – smile splits Isshin's face as he says with a sly lilt, "What I _really_ want to know is why you called me – what was it? – _Oyaji_ just now."

Ichigo swears internally. Feigning confusion, he scratches his head. "No I didn't."

"Yes you did~!"

"No."

"Yes~!"

"NO. Now go away and stop stalking people while they're sleeping. It's creepy."

"You're so mean!" A pout.

Ichigo rolls his eyes. "Goodbye." He strides forward and hefts Zangetsu onto his shoulder, the blade catching the sunlight as he tries to walk away naturally without seeming like he is running from the conversation.

"Pweeeease? I wanna know more about your mother!" Isshin shouts loudly after him.

Ichigo looks forward to the inviting shadow of the next corridor. _Almost at the corner, almost at the corner…_

A whisper of cloth behind him.

Ichigo spins, hands grabbing futilely at empty space, as Isshin makes off across the roofs with Zangetsu held aloft like some gigantic metal trophy, giggling in glee.

_Rookie mistake_, Ichigo berates himself, knowing that but for his lack of guard against his father this wouldn't have happened.

Without even pausing to curse his luck, Ichigo pivots on one foot and throws himself into breakneck shunpo after his father.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAK)

Rukia walks briskly through the halls of the Kuchiki household, white haori dragging on the pristine wooden floors behind her like some regal cape, one hand pulling her younger self after her. Her feet lead her naturally to a hidden alcove tucked halfway between her room and the kitchens that overlooks a flower garden particularly favoured by her Nii-sama. Curtains of light cascade past the wooden beams cradling this small hideaway, warming the small space with bright luminance.

"Here we are," Rukia announces, "this will do." She folds herself without preamble into the alcove, settling into a comfortable curl. The other Rukia blinks, unsure what to do. The space is small. Rukia smiles encouragingly, and pats the seat next to her. The girl finally does sit, albeit hesitatingly.

"First things first," Rukia says, reaching for the other girl's hand and holding it firm when she inevitably pulls back. "This," she continues, "is healing kido – you've seen it before." A soft green glow appears, embracing their joined hands in suffused warmth. The burned skin begins to recede to shiny pink, and the younger girl sighs with relief as the pain starts to ebb away.

As she concentrates on maintaining the kido, Rukia debates how much to actually reveal to her younger self. Even vague information may ultimately turn out to be dangerous. Of course, she is pretty certain that Urahara would offer a partial solution whenever he manages to reconnect the portal – he undoubtedly would have some sort of contingency plan – but nevertheless, it would be good idea to watch what she said.

Rukia decides to start simple. "This is my favourite spot in my home, you know," she begins conversationally.

The other Rukia raises her eyes from her healing hand, and returns softly, "Nee-sama…you...see this place as a home?"

_There we go._ Rukia chooses her words carefully. "Well, not at first. I first picked this place as a hideaway. It was small – like me. I could hide, for a while, from, well…" She gestured at the world in general.

The younger Rukia accepts her now healed hand back with a grateful dip of her head. She bites her lip, unsure how to reply.

"But after a while," Rukia suddenly continues, a new gleam in her eyes, "it became more."

The other girl looks up, searching, hopeful.

"This place is the center of the Kuchiki complex. As things changed, it also became the center of my home."

"So it does get better." The younger girl's tone is tentative, hardly daring to hope.

"It does." Rukia tilts her face to the light, drawing Ichigo's haori closer to her, reveling in its pure softness. "This will become Nii-sama's favourite garden, you know." She used to watch him prune the flowers, hidden in her alcove.

The mention of their brother draws a new shadow over the young girl's face. She seems to withdraw again into herself. By and by, she says in a dead sort of way, "He's cold all the time. And emotionless." A spark of a new emotion leaps into her face as she clenches her hands. "I can't…I'm…angry."

Rukia's expression is soft. "I…we…learn to forgive. People help, along the way." She strokes Ichigo's haori absently.

"Like Kaien-dono." A true smile breaks out on her counterpart's face, an innocent smile of the only bright light in her life.

Rukia swallows past the painful lump in her throat, and hides the horrible knowledge that the light is soon to be crushed away in the back of her mind. _On a night of rain mixed with blood._ She shivers.

The other Rukia notices her change in mood, and her face falls as she, too, hugs her knees closer.

Rukia looks at her, and tries to shake off her foreboding. "Are you cold?" she asks. "Ichigo's haori is big enough to share, you know."

A shake of the head. But Rukia throws a corner of the haori over her anyway, and the two Rukias huddle together in the pale sunlight. "And don't call me '-sama'," she adds, "I dislike formality just as much as you do. And I'm not so narcissistic as to refer to myself with such an honorific."

This garners a small smile. "Thank you for doing this, Nee-san," the other Rukia suddenly says. "I know you won't tell me much – you can't – but it's…helped, a bit, knowing that there's a light at the end of the tunnel."

"There is. You will be happy." Rukia's tone is firm.

They sit in silence for a while. Rukia snuggles further into Ichigo's haori, noting how it smells like him. Warm. Comforting. Constant.

"I envy you, you know." The other Rukia breaks the quiet.

"How so?"

"You have people that love you."

Rukia tilts her head. "How do you know? You haven't met any of them."

The younger Rukia sighs, rolling her eyes in a reminder of her hidden side of sarcasm. "I've met Ichigo-taichou. That's enough."

Something in her tone makes Rukia narrow her eyes, a smile twisting the side of her mouth. "What do you mean?"

"I've seen the way he looks at you."

"_What?!_ NO!" Rukia gasps in denial. "Ichigo doesn't –"

"Yes he does. When you were hurt, the first night you came here, I ran into him carrying you to your room." The other Rukia's tone is flat, but there is an undercurrent of humour. "His face – in simple terms, I've seen less devotion from couples decades married. He held you like you were the most precious thing in the two dimensions."

Rukia's eyes widen, as she fights the blush working its way up her cheeks. "I – I –" she struggles to answer.

"And you're blind to it. He dotes on you, you know. I heard you had a fight yesterday over his overprotectiveness. Have you ever wondered why he does that? I'm willing to bet it's not a lack of respect, it's an excess of worry." The other Rukia ploughs on relentlessly.

Rukia is silent as she ponders this new perspective. Her mind flies unbidden to the memory of Ichigo's eyes yesterday, just before she ran from him after ruining his haori. She had thought that the brown irises held anger. _Was it something else?_ His eyes were burning with intensity, to be sure. But it wasn't with hate…

"Why are you telling me this?" Rukia asks abruptly, fixing the other girl with a glare. She had thought everything regarding Ichigo was at peace in her heart, but now a rolling tumult of emotions dances in her chest. Why did she ruin her peace? She is almost angry.

The younger Rukia smiles a sad smile. "Because you have the chance to be happy, and I am not. Why aren't you taking this chance?" she asks back.

Rukia opens her mouth to answer hotly, but no words come out, so she shuts it again with a _hmpf_ and stares into the distance, reviewing Ichigo in her mind. She remembers the feeling of his hand on her shoulder. How in her company he bends his head protectively over hers, a soft smile on his face. Even when he scowls, how the anger never reaches his eyes. How indescribably annoying he is when she hurts herself in some minor way and he babbles incessantly about her safety, holding her small hands in his own.

_Ichigo…_

Something unknown in her heart flickers in return.

"See it now?" the other Rukia says, looking away to hide the sad envy in her eyes.

"I – I do. I think." Rukia tries. _Maybe._ She sighs deeply, fingering the burnt edge of the haori pensively. Come to think of it, he hadn't even gotten angry with her for shouting at him yesterday. And she can remember drifting off to sleep with his fingers stroking through her hair, a gentle smile on his face that he thinks she's too sleepy to see…

Rukia's blush deepens. "Thank you," she says slowly, "for telling me."

"Hmm." The other Rukia plays with her fingers, an echo of sadness on her face.

To Rukia, Ichigo seems in a whole different light, now. There is a lot to think about. The sunlight drifts, golden, from the rafters.

Then the peace is shattered by an enraged yell from right overhead, as the pounding of feet drum the tiles of the roof above. This is accompanied by a series of hooting giggles that are pitched to a disturbingly high frequency. Alarmed, both girls look up sharply.

Then the source of the insane laughing makes itself apparent as the edge of a captain's haori traces the edge of the eaves, and Isshin shunpo-s around the corner to the next roof.

"Is that Zangetsu?" Rukia asks disbelievingly.

The question answers itself, for with a furious yell, the sword-trophy's owner appears, haori-less, darting after the thief with an exasperated shake of fists and hair.

"ZANGETSU!" Ichigo roars, sprinting after Isshin as the giggling man decides to turn the courtyard into a circular racetrack, "_BURN_ THE HAKUCHI!"

A beat later, Isshin laughs back, "Your zanpakutuo _likes_ me! He'll burn Byakuya, but not I, haha~!" The white ribbon at the end of the sword smacks him upside the head. "Ow. Okay, he doesn't like me, but he still won't burn me!"

Ichigo growls, and blurs so fast that he is nearly invisible to the naked eye as Isshin and he play cat and mouse over the courtyard.

Isshin continues, "And you sword is named Zan_getsu_, eh? No wonder my En_getsu_ likes him, hee hee hee~"

"GIVE. HIM. BACK, KONNO –"

And with a rush of torqued air, both captains are in the distant skies, their shouts resounding back to the two stunned girls.

"They're always so mature, those two," Rukia says into the silence.

The other Rukia makes a noncommittal sound.

Something bright dawns on Rukia's face. "Hey," she says, "I can't show you Sode no Shirayuki's shikai, but I can show you something she can do. Come with me."

And she pulls her younger self up, tugging the startled girl behind her.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAK)

The sunlight streams between the supporting pillars a long corridor, slicing the wooden floor into alternate shards of gold and shadow, the winter cold somehow at odds with the slowly drifting air, sharp and gentle simultaneously. The floating wind rustles past a bedraggled mop of orange hair, glancing off the long, thin edge of a zanpakutuo returned to its owner.

Ichigo traipses down the hallway, the familiar weight of Zangetsu on his back somehow heavier than before. The bands of shadow cast from each pillar run past his tired face, gleaming silhouetted across the length of his blade.

_Stupid, moronic excuse for a father…_

It is the unfortunate law of the world that Kurosaki Ichigo – youngest captain in the history of the Gotei, certified genius is terms of shinigami training, and a demon on the battlefield – can cut down a hundred hollows in Karakura town on a regular patrol in less than five minutes and not even be out of breath, but when he is faced with a giggling madman by the name of Shiba Isshin, comes out of most encounters feeling like, well, that he had just served as Rukia's punching bag for an extended training session.

Ichigo runs a hand through his hair, stifling a yawn. It had taken quite a while to catch up with Isshin and wrestle the blade from him without actually causing his father serious harm. Holding back was the main reason it had taken so long. Ichigo snorts quietly to himself. He should just have beat the crap out of him. Would have saved a lot of time.

_And I wouldn't have had to leave Rukia alone for so long._

But the image of his father's suddenly serious half-smile lingers in Ichigo's mind. When Ichigo had finally succeeded in regaining Zangetsu, Isshin had looked at him with a weird expression of pride on his face and told him something.

"_Well, I know for certain reasons you can't answer my questions. But I daresay I would be proud if you turned out like this."_

Ichigo had narrowed his eyes and was about to fire back a rude reply when Isshin had flipped his face back into happy-go-lucky mode and zoomed off. But Ichigo wasn't fooled. His father had meant that. He had respected Ichigo's inability to tell him his true identity, and accepted it.

Ichigo sighs. Sometimes (very, very rarely), when his dad isn't trying to wreck the house, or wake up half the street with his crazed excitement, he can be a good father.

Rukia's reiatsu signature is right up ahead, in one of the gardens. A surprisingly large reiatsu signature, actually. _She must be training._

Ichigo turns the corner, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Rukia, why are you train–"

He stops. The words die in his throat.

Ice. The entire garden is covered with a thin sheer layer of purest white ice, sunlight dazzlingly bright on the glorious, shining surface, reflecting the cerulean sky and the drifting clouds like a pathway, a mirror to the heavens, or the sky trapped in a world under your feet. The winter air is several degrees colder than elsewhere, frigid in its clear, sharp embrace, but not cruel. No, it is submissive.

The wind itself is submissive to the dancing, twirling vision that is Kuchiki Rukia, laughing on the ice. Her other, younger self is perched on a drift of snow at the edge of the garden. Rukia glides across the frost as if uplifted on some unknown concerto of the heavens, notes of a silent tune known to no one alighting on her flying hair, her smiling violet eyes, the very tip of the extended Sode no Shirayuki, and the music that is her laughing voice, cajoling the younger girl to join her on the disc of untainted white. A flurry of glacial frost trips glitteringly around her.

To Ichigo, at that moment, she is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.

It takes him a long, long moment to tear his eyes away from her and shut his slightly gaping mouth.

His haori lies abandoned in a heap on the wooden step. Ichigo walks silently to it, laying Zangetsu down carefully and dusting the haori off. He shrugs it on, and sits down on the step with a small sigh, propping his head on his hands. He is content to watch, for a while.

Rukia is gesturing towards her younger self, beckoning her to the ice. "Come on! It's not that difficult," she laughs. The other Rukia looks a bit nervous. "Right," Rukia announces, skidding over to her and driving Sode no Shirayuki upright in the ice, "take my hand." Rukia reaches for her hands with her own small ones, and pulls the girl into the center of the ring.

The other Rukia yelps as her sandaled feet slide on the smooth surface, but Rukia manages to catch her before they fall. But a few shaky steps later, the younger Rukia catches on to some hidden technique she shares with her older self, and begins to maneuver remarkably well on the ice, if not with the exact grace and poise that Rukia possesses.

"There you go!" Rukia exclaims in a satisfied tone. "Knew you could do it." The other Rukia smiles happily back.

Ichigo suddenly realises that both Rukias are whispering with their heads close to each other, and…_giggling_. While looking furtively in his direction. A spike of alarm builds in his chest. Over the years, he has tended to label the particular expression of suppressed glee that both girls show now as the preamble to torture, usually Chappy-related. And directed at his head.

"Um, Rukia?" he begins, slowly, warily getting to his feet.

The two Rukias break apart from their whispers, and Rukia flashes him a shark's grin. "Yes, Ichigo?" she says in too coy a voice, gliding over to Sode no Shirayuki.

The spike of alarm is positively throbbing now.

Ichigo tries to step onto the ice, and wobbles dangerously on his first step. He makes sure his feet are steady before he looks up.

His eyes widen.

_Oh crap._

A wave of snow appears out of nowhere – from the general direction of Sode no Shirayuki – and swamps Ichigo in fluffy crystals, burying him completely in a muffled _whump_.

A moment later, Ichigo's snow-topped head pops out of the pile, a thunderous scowl on his face.

The two Rukias almost fall over each other in their laughter. The younger one wipes a tear from her eye, and the older is struggling to breathe. The younger Rukia gasps, "His FACE!"

"I KNOW!" Rukia wheezes, holding her ribs. "What I would give for a camera!"

"What's a camera?"

Ichigo makes a menacing sort of growl.

Both girls pause, and look at him.

Then a clump of snow falls off Ichigo's orange hair and into his right eye, giving his face a lopsided look.

The two girls erupt into gales of renewed mirth, their voices like wind chimes in the winter air. So completely distracted by their hilarity that they forget to watch the snowed-in Ichigo, they are surprised when they discover that he is not shouting at them.

Swiveling in his direction, they narrow their eyes in tandem as they realise that he has disappeared into the drift, only the tops of his shoulders visible as he scrabbles in the snow.

"What _is _he doing?" the other Rukia asks, a smile still on her face.

"Does that look like what I think it looks like?" Rukia asks back, eyes widening.

Yes, it does. The front of the pile looks like the beginnings of a snow fort, now.

Both girls back away.

Ichigo pops back out of the snow, frostdust in his hair and a wicked grin on his face. "Take this," he says shortly, and flings his hands forward.

A gigantic tsunami of snow rushes forward, propelled by Ichigo's reiatsu into a sloppy monstrosity, looming over the petite figures of the two Rukias.

"KYAAHHHHHH!"

Chaos ensues.

Five seconds into the fight, Ichigo yells, "No zanpakutuos!"

"No reiatsu!" Rukia yells back.

"DONE!" all shout in agreement.

Due to a seemingly endless amount of snow, the snowball fight splatters the roofs and the walls of the garden with a pure white imitation of modern minimalistic art. Shunpo was decidedly _not_ barred, and soon the entire garden is carved into furrowed trenches, markers of a furious war of ice and snow.

This wears on, until Rukia is tired of Ichigo gaining the advantage due to his superior shunpo skills, and orders a mass glomp attack. She then lifts a massive snowball almost larger than herself, tottering under its weight, and drops it on Ichigo's head.

The two Rukias celebrate their victory.

Ichigo moans under the snow. "I hate you, midget."

The two Rukias celebrate their victory _enthusiastically_.

Then a distant sound of the double gates opening, and shutting. The three revelers abruptly find that the sky is darker than it was before.

"Brother's home," the younger Rukia says softly, brushing down her uniform with hands red from cold. "I've got to go. He can't see me all wet like this."

Rukia understands.

"Thank you, Nee-san," the younger Rukia says earnestly, smiling for real. And she disappears into the darkening hallways.

Rukia turns to Ichigo, who vaguely resembles an ostrich with his head buried in snow, not sand. She laughs, again, and crouches next to the pile. "Baka," she says gently, sticking her small, gloved hands into the pile and brushing the snow off his hair.

A hand shoots out from the within the drift and smushes a handful of snow into her startled face.

"OI!" she yells, scrubbing at her face with a sleeve. "That got into my mouth!"

Ichigo rolls onto his back, laughing breathlessly.

She deals him a kick without any real venom, and marches off to stand in the center of the iced garden. A sweeping gesture of Sode no Shirayuki later, the snow is cleared and the garden is a flat plane of frozen ice again.

Ichigo flips to his side, propping his head sideways to look at her.

Rukia holds out her hand.

Ichigo tilts his head.

"Will you dance with me, Ichigo?"

* * *

**Now, does that count as a cliffie? A bit of a cliffie? Haha, I hope you all liked that. Yes, some dancing is in store! Hehehehe :) Oh, and I also hope you guys didn't mind the cheese. Cheese is good, in measured amounts :)**

**Please review, please! It makes me so happy, and a happy writer writes faster :D**

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**chappi: Thank you so much! I'm happy you liked it! Hope you liked this chapter :)**

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	6. Chapter 6

**Hello, people :) I am sick, for the second time in two weeks – this is the reason for the minor delay in updating. Yesterday I was 500 words from the end of the chapter and I was staring at my computer going like "Ichigo is…**_**Ichigo is…**_**" and my brain was like: "No. Sleep. Now." But you get a long chapter again, so I'll be forgiven? **

**THANKS TO REVIEWERS: tsukuneXmoka, Phantom Claire, laughingspider, MugetsuIchigo, Caeli et Inferno, adamxero, Irishmate, BleachFreak16, Guest, WarriorofAnime, Taichichaser2000, IronEclipse, Leila-san, Read Love and Review, Karakura King, MerryKitten, uzuki-chan, brialees, warrior-of-water, Tsuki no Yukihime, chasingdragondreams, Kireina-Ame, ilovebks, vine, insertnamehere, mypupps1, poooy200, MrsAuroraBriefs, BitterSweetNitemare. **

**IMPORTANT: I do realise that there might be some discrepancies regarding how some characters in this chapter might or might not be in certain positions in the Gotei as of this time, but really Bleach is a bit messed up in timeline so there you go.**

**I don't own, I love you guys, here's the chapter!**

* * *

_Rukia deals him a kick without any real venom, and marches off to stand in the center of the iced garden. A sweeping gesture of Sode no Shirayuki later, the snow is cleared and the garden is a flat plane of frozen ice again._

_Ichigo flips to his side, propping his head sideways to look at her._

_Rukia holds out her hand. _

_Ichigo tilts his head._

"_Will you dance with me, Ichigo?"_

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAK)

Moonrise over Seireitei. It is an especially spectacular moon that night, a pale disc of purest white, perfectly round, symmetrical in its glowing beauty. The light that drifts like stardust from the heavens illuminates the ribboned edges of the nighttime clouds, painting the sky a palette of royal blue, ultramarine, navy, zaffre. It is the sort of bright darkness in the sky that makes even the most hardened shinigami indulge in the less-than-manly action of drawing back the curtains and staring up at the coin-like marvel.

It is the sort of moon that requires one no lantern, or lit candle to walk the streets and gardens. A particular garden in Seireitei is bathed in the incandescent moonlight, an archway to the skies, the beginning pinpricks of emerging stars reflected in the smooth abyss of polished ice.

Ichigo raises his eyebrows at the suddenness of the question, taking in his horizontal view of the world and Rukia in it. "I can't dance," he replies, by way of stalling.

Rukia puts her hand on her hip, still beckoning with her other. "Nonsense," she quips, "you've got about the best hand-eye coordination the Gotei has seen in about a hundred years. Come."

Ichigo rubs the back of his head sheepishly as he pushes himself up to a sitting position. "Umm, I really don't know how to dance. Nobody ever taught me how." The moonlight sets Rukia's hair on silver fire. He looks away quickly, hiding a sudden blush, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

Small hands enter his field of vision, stilling the nervous fidgeting in his. "Well then," Rukia says, a bit of a grin on her face, "that's another thing I'm going to have to teach you, then, baka." She pulls him up, until his taller form once again towers over hers.

Ichigo realises they are standing quite a bit closer than usual, and tries to shuffle backwards, but is foiled by the slippery ice. Rukia frowns. "Stay put," she orders with all the authority of a captain. He complies. "I'm going to teach you the basic box step. You can't mess up something _that_ easy."

"Oi. Someone here didn't receive nobility training, you know."

"Just because you're an under-educated idiot doesn't mean you have an excuse. Now shut up and listen."

A _hmpf_ of annoyance, but Ichigo submits.

Rukia holds out her hand, businesslike. Ichigo takes it, tentatively. He has held her hand many times before, and it wasn't ever as awkward as this. "No," Rukia says, rolling her eyes, "_you _support my hand, not the other way around." Ichigo flips his grip, scowling.

It takes another two seconds before Rukia realises that Ichigo has no idea where to put his other hand. Sighing with a hint of exasperation, she darts forward and grabs his wrist, placing his hand on her waist. Ichigo turns a violent shade of crimson. Rukia pointedly ignores this, and transfers her hand to his shoulder. A moment of this, and she decides that he is way too tall for the traditional way of doing things, lowering her hand rest comfortably in his elbow.

"Right. Now we step like _this–_" she steps back, and he nearly falls over her as his foot invariably finds something to snag on while on _ice_. "In the name of all the Gotei–" she says, "can you keep your balance while moving one _foot_?"

Ichigo is about to snap back a retort, but the moonlight catches the curve of her cheek, and stuns him. "Sorry," he mumbles instead.

"Baka." The word is surprisingly soft. Then Rukia's tone is commanding again. "Now try again. And if you step on my foot, I will kill you."

"Yessir."

He steps on her foot. She whacks him upside the head. He grumbles. They try again.

"Watch your other foot!" She hits him again.

"Owww…"

"You're hopeless. I take back my former compliment about your hand-eye coordination."

"Your steps are shorter than mine! Your feet are _small_. Doesn't help that you're a midget."

A violet glare.

Ichigo retreats.

"Fine," Rukia says, "you leave me no choice." Ichigo waits for his impending judgment. "Switch. _I'll_ be the man." She rearranges his hands before he can object.

"Is this even _allowed_?" Ichigo scowls over this humiliation.

"It's a backup plan for idiots who have two left feet. Now move it."

"Peh."

They shuffle onwards in a slowly revolving circle around the ice, the quiet indispersed with little bouts of squabbling, and the occasional hit or two from Rukia. By and by, the frequency of the bursts of quarreling decreases until a comfortable silence descends on the dancers, and Ichigo is deemed capable enough to revert back to guiding Rukia instead of the other way round.

Ichigo breaks the silence first. "Rukia?" he asks, looking down at the small head of hair under his chin as they skate slowly on the ice.

"Hmm?"

"Are you happy?"

Rukia blinks. "What do you mean?" she asks, snowflakes in her hair.

Ichigo tries again. "I mean, are you happy back in the Fourteenth Division? I know it's a small division, and new, and I was thinking about what you said before…" He trails off.

_What I said before?_ Rukia frowns. _Oh._ "Is this…about yesterday?" she ventures, keeping her expression impassive.

A shadow passes over Ichigo's face. "Yeah," he whispers. They come to a standstill on the ice.

Rukia looks at him, and sees for, the first time after their argument the day before, what truly lies in those brown eyes. Regret. Remorse. Worry. And fear. Fear that she would grow weary of such a small division, and his leadership, and fear that he would disappoint her, and she would leave. Leave to a place where he cannot protect her.

Rukia sighs. Does she really possess such power over him as to leave him so insecure after a few words said in anger? The other Rukia was right. _I am blind._ It is she that regrets her words that day. She must fix this.

But Ichigo has interpreted the sigh to mean something else. "I'm sorry," he says in a rush, "I know I made mistakes, and that I'm overprotective. It's not that I don't respect your skills as a shinigami, it's just that – " he stops. "I – Can you give me another chance?"

She takes a moment to appreciate how inordinately worried he is, before stepping in firmly. "Ichigo," she says, looking straight at him, "there is nothing to forgive. I overreacted. I got angry. I said things. Don't take them to heart, okay? I'm sorry." She reaches up on tiptoes and tugs at a lock of spiky orange hair.

"Oh," Ichigo says, nonplussed. Rukia nods emphatically. Ichigo swallows. "So," he ventures, "you _are_ happy? In my division?"

"Yes, baka," Rukia replies, and pulls him back to dancing. "Now forget the stupid argument and fix your footwork," she orders. Ichigo smiles, and does so.

The moon climbs higher into the sky. For a while, there is only the shift of cloth as they whirl and spin gently under the heavens. Ichigo gets used to the lack of distance between them, and the awkwardness disappears. Around them, the lights of Sereitei blink and flicker as more and more are lit.

Ichigo clears his throat. "Your talk with the younger…with her went well, I suppose? She seemed a lot happier."

Rukia shifts, looking away. "Yeah. I don't know –" She halts. Ichigo waits patiently, unhalting in his guiding steps. Rukia swallows, turning her head back to stare straight ahead, into the black folds of his shihakushuo. "I think I'm scared of her."

Ichigo doesn't have to ask why. Seeing a younger self must be frightening in itself – but the younger Rukia is so different, so much lonelier and weaker and in so much more pain, it must be ten times more unsettling. He steers them back towards the circle of moonlight. "I'm scared of her too, you know." He says softly.

Rukia stiffens, and her head tilts in a silent question. Ichigo shakes his head ruefully. He begins, "The first night we came here –" Rukia suddenly remembers her conversation with her younger self about this, and shades her blush behind her fringe. "– I ran into her, outside your room." Ichigo shivers imperceptibly, and his hand tightens on Rukia's. "She was just suddenly _there_ – no warning – and it was like seeing you, but not you. I – I don't – it wasn't a good feeling." He stops, unsure how to explain himself.

But Rukia also understands. A stranger with her face, standing while she was unconscious and weak in his arms. She nods, and Ichigo relaxes. A strange emotion rises in her throat. The quiet descends again.

Then a small sniff from somewhere below him sends Ichigo into a concerned frown. He stops their dancing, if dancing it can be called, this shifting from foot to foot under the moon, and bends down to peer into her face.

"I miss them," Rukia says, trying not to let the emotion enter her voice.

Ichigo sighs. There is no need to ask who she is referring to. "We'll see them again," he says quietly.

"I miss Nii-sama, and Renji, and Ukitake-taichou, and Hinamori-chan, and –" She chokes back a small sob. _Must not cry must not cry must not cry…_

Then a voice breaks into her thoughts. "I'm here, you know." Ichigo falls to stroking her hair. Rukia buries her face into the front of his haori, and lets him hug her until she stops trembling. "We're both going to get out of here," Ichigo continues, his voice strong, constant, "and we'll laugh about it after, okay?"

Rukia can hear the comforting _thud thud thud_ of his heartbeat, and nods into his chest. Ichigo holds her closer, and, after a moment of hesitation, presses a kiss into her hair. She looks up sharply at this. Ichigo pauses, afraid of something he cannot name. But Rukia simply tightens her hug, unanswering, and relaxes into his embrace.

The moonlight drifts gently, a gentle nightlight hung high on a curtain of black, over the still-dancing figures of a taichou and fukutaichou on a plane of mirrored ice.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAK)

Rukia yawns, snuggling deeper into her burrow of blankets as the morning chill seeps in through the window. Turning, she cracks open an eyelid, and blearily registers that there is no snoring Ichigo sitting half-slumped over in the chair beside her bed. Rukia turns over again, trying to swallow a weird feeling of disappointment. Two nights in a row waking to the lingering touch of Ichigo's reiatsu in the chair next to her has left the room feeling somewhat empty without his presence.

_I am _not_ disappointed_, Rukia tells herself firmly. But she can still remember the rush of surprised warmth in her heart when Ichigo dared to kiss her hair…

Rukia shoves the thought out of her head. It is too early to wake. Must go back to sleep. Yawning again, she is almost adrift in dreams when the sliding door to her room slams open with a _crash_.

"Wha-?" she mumbles, but then Ichigo is shaking her awake.

"Rukia! Can't you sense that?" he says tightly. He is already fully dressed, complete with haori and zanpaktuo.

"What is it, Ichigo!" she moans in half-asleep anger, pulling her borrowed chappy pajamas closer to herself and rubbing her eyes.

Ichigo's eyes are wide. "There's something coming. A lot of them, but they're hidden. It's _throbbing_ in my chest –" He looks behind him, sharply.

"I don't feel anything…" Rukia grumbles, propping herself up on one elbow.

But Ichigo is already gone, haori flying behind him. The room is suddenly silent, and all the more empty.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAK)

Over a dreamscape belonging to a particular academy student, a serene wind blows. The dreamscape is peaceful and still, a silence born from too much kido practice followed by intense zanjutsu training, then eating too much at the cafeteria and a consequential food coma. The beginnings of an internal time clock that all seasoned shinigami possess ticks away in this student's mind, comforting in its knowledge that classes are still hours away.

_RINNNNNNGGGRINNNNNNGGGRINNNNNNGGG!_

The morning bell of the academy is glaringly klaxon-like, breaking the fluffy weariness that muffles the sleepy mind of one Abarai Renji, third year student at the Shinigami Academy. The life of an accelerated-class shinigami-in-training is very tiring indeed.

Renji's internal time clock registers that it is far too early for the bell to be ringing, and decides that the infernal _noise_ must be the fault of his roommates. Groaning, he debates momentarily whether to slam his pillow over his ears and hair, or fling the projectile at the nearest bunk. He decides on the latter, yanking the pillow from under his messy red hair and catapulting it into Izura Kira's half-awake face. It impacts with a satisfying _thwack_.

"Shut _up_ mmfph…" Renji mumbles under his blankets.

But he is not to enjoy the bliss of sleep, for the bell only rings louder as someone storms to his bedside and yanks the quilt off his face.

"_Wake. Up, _Abarai you idiot," Kira's surprisingly serious voice hisses at him.

Renji opens his eyes into tiny slits, peering up at Kira's _worried? _face uncomprehendingly, a scowl twisting his eyebrows. "What," he growls.

Kira is already belting his zanpakutuo onto his waist, tugging his sandals on with an alarming haste. "That isn't the morning bell. Get up," he says shortly. Something in his voice jolts Renji into full wakefulness, as he sits up, hair cascading past his tattoos. _That really isn't the morning bell._

Renji shouts out loud, springing to his feet and reaching for his hairtie. That never-ending ringing is the academy-wide warning alarm. Something really, really bad is happening. A glance across the dormitory shows roughly half the students awake, and the rest in the process of waking.

Thirty seconds later, Renji and Kira are fully dressed and armed, shunpo-ing to the central courtyard along with a veritable sea of escaping students. The first-years are in a state of organized panic, asauchi-less, reiatsu signatures warping in their fear. The second and third years are not much better, tugging slightly variegated asauchi behind them as they try to apply what little experience they have. The students in the accelerated classes and those close to graduating have a grim set about their mouths, twisting and weaving through the crowd with carefully placed shunpo. Both Renji and Kira belong to this group, the ones with talent set to graduate early.

But the sheer number of students is preventing the experienced from moving quickly, and they have to fight their way through a melee of terrified rookies. A corridor away from the central courtyard, they run into a breathless Hinamori Momo, trying to stay afloat in the stifling mass of students.

"Momo!" Kira yells, reaching towards her.

Hinamori clasps the tips of his fingers and allows herself to be shielded somewhat by his taller frame, a wordless thanks in her eyes. "Can you _feel_ that?" she gasps. Renji and Kira nod. There is a darkening miasma in the air, the encroaching shadow of an approaching horror. Renji has felt it once before. On the field trip when Hisagi Shuuhei lost his right eye.

_Hollows._

Together, the three spill into the expanse of the largest open space in the academy. Their eyes widen.

It is war in the courtyard.

Dozens of towering, white terrors loom across the field, their shrieking cries reverberating across the panicking students. The younger students cower along the walls, holding each other as some braver ones fire random kido at the beasts. The sixth-years are scattered all over the yard, small explosions of shikai release trailing their feet. The limited number of academy training instructors are mere distortions in the fight, felling hollow after hollow in a mad dance to protect the untrained shinigami.

Renji tightens his hold on Zabimaru. He had attained shikai a few months ago, but true shikai release only weeks before. For a third-year student, this is exemplary. But as a screaming howl tears across his eardrums, he doubts his ability. Beside him, Kira also hesitates.

And then a blurred form flies past him, slamming into the wall with enough force to crack brick and stone. The sixth-year drops his zanpakutuo, falling to the ground and retching on his knees. Hinamori runs to him, healing kido glowing in her hands, but the sixth-year raises his head, rivulets of sweat and blood running down his temples, and stops her with a look. "_Run_, you fools," he gasps past his racking coughs.

Hinamori backs away, looking at Renji and Kira helplessly.

Renji grits his teeth, and unsheathes Zabimaru with a rasp of metal. Kira draws Wabisuke, tucking his fringe behind his ear. Renji gives Hinamori a glance. He is about to tell her to run, but she too draws her zanpakutuo, the fear in her eyes balanced by determination.

"Let's go." Renji's voice is toneless, hiding the fear in his throat.

They dive as one into the warzone.

_This is timeless._ There is no minute by minute, only action, and reaction, hollow's roar against roar of war, claw against metal, gargantuan steps against shunpo. It must have been mere seconds, but it feels like hours. Between slashes of Zabimaru and near-misses from clawed white hands, Renji registers that they are losing. The two gates of escape at the far ends of the courtyard are blocked off by the sheer number of hollows, and the students are only prevented from massacre by the continued efforts of the academy instructors and those students skilled enough to fight.

There is a gigantic rift in the sky, torn in the barrier around Sereitei itself. From within the boundless chasm a tsunami of white pours, an endless wave. But the ones coming now are smaller, more humanoid, halfway between monster and man-shaped. And by the Gotei, are they _fast_. Renji barely sidesteps the laughing strike of the first one he encounters, a weirdly childlike face leering in bloodlust as it pivots in midair and comes for him again. _Where did they come from?_ The attack was sudden, calculated so that the Gotei 13 would be slow to respond. There had been no warning.

"Five minutes!" An instructor screams across the battlefield. "Hold them back for another five minutes! The Gotei are coming!"

_We can't make it._ Renji despairs as he parries another blow, unable to risk shikai release in such a high-speed fight. A cut opens on his right cheek. Another on his left arm. There are no shinigami deaths so far – but in five minutes, there may as well be a hundred.

A piercing cry from behind. Renji swivels, too slowly, too slowly. _Can't block in time._ His death looms in front of him.

A whisper of shunpo, a murmur of cloth, and hollow blood sprays fountain-like into the air.

Renji catches a glimpse of shihakushuo, a long, heavy blade, and a flash of a white haori, before the blurring figure shunpo-s halfway across the yard.

_A captain._ Renji breathes a choked gasp of relief.

The tall captain sports a head of alarmingly coloured orange hair, but Renji cannot discern the rest of his features clearly in the cloud of smoke and dust kicked up by the man's extremely fast shunpo. The taichou moves like a ghost, flitting from hollow to hollow with such extraordinary lightness and grace it seems like he is in several places at once.

Renji can suddenly breathe again, as a bubble of empty space clears around him. All over the courtyard, he sees the white glow of the captain's haori as hollows are pushed back towards the far end of the field. Renji narrows his eyes. _Why isn't he cutting them down?_ The captain is herding the hollows with deft skill into a seething mass, his lightning speed preventing any from darting back towards the shinigami. Academy instructors and students stumble out of the fray into the waiting hands of the huddled student crowd, as all turn to see the magnificent display of shunpo and zanjutsu performed by this blur of a captain.

When every last hollow is grouped together, snarling, in a heaving corpus boiling with frustration and blood against the far wall, the man finally slows enough for the entire student body to see more than a flash of orange and white.

The captain slides through an elegant sweep of dust, his haori billowing behind him, huge zanpakutuo out and ready. The students gasp, and mutter among themselves.

_Fourteenth Division?_

The man gives the students a look over his shoulder, and Renji catches an expression torn between concern and anger. Then the captain throws himself into the air at a breathtaking speed, zanpakutuo raised high above his head, the morning sun glinting blindingly over the keen silver of his blade. He flips into a perfect arc, silhouetted against the rising sun, and the very air shifts with power.

The students gasp again as one, as the ground jolts under the weight of a reiatsu unlike anything they have ever felt before, as the captain reaches the apex of his flight and flings his sword in a single, brilliant curve towards the mass of hollows. A massive wave of cerulean energy sets the air on fire, glorious against the patterned sky.

It decimates over seventy hollows in an instant.

The sudden silence is tinged with awe.

Ichigo lands lightly, without a sound.

Renji swallows. _So this is the power of a shinigami captain._ He thinks of Byakuya. Renji somehow feels further than ever from his goal.

Ichigo half-turns, and an eyeblink later, he is within speaking distance, his haori drifting slowly to rest about his ankles. The students waver before his gaze.

But what comes out of his mouth is unexpected. "Sereitei security _sucks_," Ichigo snorts derisively, straightening his crooked haori. "It's even worse than when _I_ broke in."

This is answered with a disbelieving sort of silence.

Ichigo takes in the cowering crowd of students before him, and picks out a few familiar faces. He has to control himself before he grins – he would pay quite a fair amount to bring a photo of the expression on this Renji's face back to pineapple-head, just to rub it in. There is something akin to hero-worship mixed with awe and jealousy on this younger Renji's visage.

But no time for that.

"We don't have much time. The second wave will be here in a minute," Ichigo says clearly across the courtyard, addressing the few academy instructors. "I take it you know who I am?" Higher-level shinigami should have been informed of his and Rukia's arrival a few days ago.

Several nods. A man sporting a clipped moustache steps forward – the headmaster – and replies with a military-like brusqueness, "Yes, Kurosaki-taichou. Our thanks for the speedy intervention."

Ichigo takes the compliment in stride. When he next speaks, it is in the tone he uses to address his subordinates – clear, effective, weighted with authority. "You need to get the students out. A few strong hado spells should clear the main doors. Instructors, you hold the hollows back." He settles his gaze on the students, and many unconsciously stand straighter. "Sixth years and near-graduates, step forward."

About fifty students pick their way out of the crowd. Ichigo narrows his eyes, and hefts Zangetsu at a particular trio. "Including you three. I know you guys have shikai release."

Renji splutters – _How does he even know me?_ – and looks behind him to check whether he meant someone else.

"Yes, you, Renji," comes the mocking call.

_He knows my name?!_ The students explode into another round of mutters. Only the teaching staff seem unsurprised.

Ichigo slams a wave of reiatsu outwards, kicking up a cloud of dust in a broad circle around him. Silence falls immediately. "All of you will assist the wounded and guard the evacuating students. Momo," he suddenly calls, eliciting a sharp squeak from Hinamori, "start clearing the entrances. Get moving, people."

There is no arguing with that tone. The students snap into motion, even as Ichigo turns to face the rift in the sky with an inscrutable expression. "Moustache-san," he calls.

A tic appears on the headmaster's brow, but he stays admirably calm. "Yes, taichou?" he answers.

"Was there any warning? A folding of the fabric between worlds? Anything at all?"

The headmaster shakes his head. "No. They came out of nowhere."

Ichigo's eyes darken. "Right. Thank you." His fingers touch the front of his shihakushuo lightly, where his heart is. _But _I_ felt them._ He turns toward the sky.

"Where are you going?" the headmaster asks quickly.

Ichigo laughs humourlessly. "To stop them before they spill into Seireitei proper." He crouches, and before the headmaster can reply, disappears into a distant speck, shunpo-ing on air. The wind from his passing whips the surrounding students' hair into disarray.

The academy braces for the next wave of hollows.

(BerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREAKBerryBREA KBerryBREAK)

The western edge of Seireitei is a chaotic frenzy of battle; an unorganised turmoil of footsoldiers, seated officers, fukutaichou, captain, against hollows of every shape and size. There has been no time for orderly ranks or division-controlled attacks – the melee is every shinigami for themselves. The war cries of shinigami mingle with hollow shrieks in a dark concerto of blood and death, a shadowed orchestra of kill or be killed.

Across the tiled rooftops, two figures dart and dance through the occasional enemy, not pausing for more than the moment needed for a well-placed slash of a zanpakutuo. The one leading is dark-haired, a severe frown on his brow, sea-green eyes narrowed in concentration. The one following close behind grins a macabre smile, an undercurrent of dark humour twisting his laughing mouth.

"Suiten sakamake, Nejibana!"

A blade glows dazzlingly golden, lengthening into a trident worthy of Poseidon, elegant, poised, deadly. A flip and a spiral in experienced hands, and a massive wall of reiatsu-charged water torrents through a group of hollows, drowning them in a wet sphere of crushing pressure.

Shiba Kaien lands with a gracefully executed roll on the next rooftop, Nejibana in full shikai mode and held in a reverse grip behind him. He looks back at his companion.

"Moero, Engetsu! Getsuga Tenshou!"

Reiatsu explodes along the length of the blade, bathing the sword in unearthly fire. A flare of blued fire, dancing madly to a madman's wishes – and a swathe of hollows disappears in the roaring crackle of flame.

Shiba Isshin lands on one knee, and straightens with a cocky smile. "Got more than you. I win, heheheheh. Bow down to my superiority, insolent nephew."

Kaien raises one eyebrow. "You can make anything into a game, Uncle. I am undeniably obliged to your positivity," he replies with a sardonic roll of his eyes.

Isshin ignores the pointed sarcasm. "Revel in my power, merhehehe," he cackles in an admirable impersonation of a fantasy supervillain.

And then there is a blast of reiatsu behind them that can only be described as a _detonation_, as a half-familiar reiatsu signature swells to ten times the magnitude of either their previous attacks. They only have just enough time to up their own signatures to shield themselves, when the strike happens.

"Getsuga. Tenshou." The words are not an exclamation. They are a cold, factual statement of power.

The world turns blue and black. The sky covered in a sheen of cerulean, the edges of the reiatsu wave melding into stunning white, the emptiness of pure, unadulterated power.

"Whoa," Kaien whispers, despite himself.

The following silence is almost anti-climatic.

Ichigo ghosts next to them, not even out of breath. He greets them with a terse nod, brushing a hand through orange spikes to clear them out of his eyes.

Isshin, when recovered, is almost beside himself. "That. Is beyond cool, my friend," he breathes, eyes glowing with a hint of pride. Then the silliness returns. "I defer my sword to your magnanimous power, O great one!" he shouts, grinning widely.

"Shut up."

"Awww. Don't be like that."

Ichigo turns very deliberately to Kaien, leaving Isshin pouting in his wake. "How many?" he asks shortly.

Kaien grimaces, twirling Nejibana absently. "Hundreds. The smaller ones are the worst. Thank heavens there aren't that many of them."

"I don't see any arrancar yet," Ichigo returns, eliciting a sharp look from Kaien at his use of the term, "but we need to be on our guard. I can take them out most efficiently when there aren't any others in the way. Can you push them to a clear area?"

"Of course. Where's Rukia?" Kaien suddenly asks.

"I left her back at the Kuchiki compound. Should be here soon, though. She's not the type to miss out on a fight." Ichigo does not mention how she would probably get here twice as fast just to beat him up for leaving her behind.

Isshin's voice suddenly breaks in. "Are we doing this or what?" he grins, a hint of bloodlust in his smile.

Ichigo's mouth twists upwards. "Let's go."

The three leap as one into the air.

Countless minutes later, perhaps hours, perhaps seconds, lost in the emptiness that is war, the tide of hollows is unfading. As each one is dissolved into screaming ash by water, fire, ice, blade, another rises to take its place. The science team's hell butterflies flicker thick and frequent in the air, reports regarding their progress in closing the gaping rift in the sky. Nobody really has any time to activate them. Shinigami and hollow are evenly matched – the battle is now a standstill of blade and claw.

Landing on a rooftop between the Eleventh and Tenth divisions, Ichigo takes a moment to catch his breath after his last attack. Kaien lands a beat behind him, wiping sweat out of one eyebrow. Isshin approaches from the opposite direction, still grinning, although there is a grimness about his jaw. "Good hunting –" his eyes widen, "– behind you, Ichigo!"

Ichigo turns to find his vision filled with adjuchas, a leering white mask of impending death. He brings Zangetsu in front of him –

"Tsugi no mai, Hakuren!"

Blinding white. A torrent of snow and ice, leaving Ichigo blinking in its passing.

Something small and hard impacts the back of his neck with a painful _crack_. Ichigo turns his head to find Rukia's bunched fist making its second approach, thumping into the small of his back with resolute intent.

"Ow! I'm sorry for leaving you behind, midget, but Renji and the others would have been in deep crap if I didn't get there!"

"Hmpfh." Rukia's violet eyes are dangerous – but she pulls back her next punch at the mention of Renji. She glares at him. "And what if I had gotten here just a second later, hmm, BAKAMONO!"

Ichigo winces. "I would have blocked it?"

He gets a kick in the shins. He accepts it without complaint, because he can tell that Rukia is venting her what is left of her worry into anger. It _was_ a close miss. Behind him, Isshin is practically beaming at their argument. Ichigo sighs. He can see the cogs working in his father's brain, shipping them together with a paternal glee.

"Hello, Kaien-dono," Rukia says, managing to look him in the eye. She smiles when he nods back.

"I am honoured to fight with you," Kaien says, only half-joking, smiling in return.

"Come on," Rukia says in a different tone, "we've got work to do." She pulls Ichigo's sleeve, her white-gloved hand tugging on black.

Ichigo is glad to have someone he trusts defending his back, and he can tell that Rukia is too. They fly into the battle with synchronized experience, an ease in their movements borne of years of shared training and implacable trust in the other's abilities. If there is a hole in Rukia's defense as she waltzes with ice, Ichigo is there beside her to make up for it. If Ichigo has a blind spot to his left as he blasts a Getsuga Tenshou, Rukia's sword is within slashing distance. They almost seem to read each other's minds and they dance together in a deadly chain of impenetrable attacks, weaving a fabric cavorting with death.

Kaien grins proudly, Nejibana a blur in his hands as he flits along the perimeter of their swords, driving the hollows into their blades. Isshin is almost cackling with delight.

Around them, almost every captain has arrived on the battlefield. A haze of pink announces Byakuya's entry on a wave of sakura petals; Ukitake's white hair flies behind him in sweeping arcs as he cleaves hollows asunder; Kyouraku's haori flutters in the wind, his hat staying on his head against all laws of common sense as he ducks and weaves between _cero_; Soi Fong, faster than a hornet, clawed fingers deadly stingers, twisting in midair; Zaraki laughing a madman's laugh, enjoying himself obscenely as he hews his way across the sky, surrounded by piles of fallen white; Komamura, helmet gleaming, sundering the air with his zanpakutuo.

And still the wave of hollows is not quite pushed back.

_Someone will have to fall to bankai soon_, Ichigo thinks amid a storm of _cero._ Their method of grouping the hollows into bunches and finishing them off with a quick Getsuga Tenshou is effective, but not fast enough. What they need is speed. Soi Fong is currently the most efficient, leaping from clash to clash and picking off the hollows with lethal rapidity, leaving foot soldiers blinking as their enemies fall in front of them.

Ichigo knows that he could finish it all in seconds if he struck with bankai. He also knows that even if the other captains used the next release, none of them possess the high speed required to decisively push the battle in their favour without causing collateral damage.

Beside him, Rukia meets his gaze with worried violet. She understands the danger of revealing too much of their powers. Ichigo asks her the wordless question.

"Do it," she hisses back when she next passes by his ear, "but _be careful_."

Ichigo translates this to mean _don't reveal your hollow powers_.

"Okay then," he says half to himself, readying Zangetsu. He breathes in, and out. _Let's go_, he thinks to Zangetsu. _And you, stay put_, he thinks to the hollow hiding in the skyscrapers of his consciousness. It gives him a wicked grin, but curls in upon itself in an uncharacteristic display of submission. It, too, understands the significance of hiding.

Zangetsu's broad blade extends in front of him, straight and true, somehow feeling _right_ clasped in his hands. Ichigo, in a sort of detached way, knows that Rukia is covering him as he readies himself, and that Isshin is paying exceptionally close attention, some instinct signaling a change in Ichigo's stance.

Ichigo opens his eyes, and speaks words lined with steel. "Bankai. Tensa Zangetsu."

There is a moment when the world fades, and all Ichigo can hear and feel and see is the beating of his heart and the rasp of his breath, and Zangetsu's inclined head, saying _yes, here_. Then the sky and the air shudders with immense gravity, and everyone on the battlefield stops breathing as one, because heaven itself is weighing on their shoulders –

An explosion of black, warring with white and a residual of blue. It clears to reveal Ichigo garbed in a magnificent cloak of crimson and shadow, Zangetsu extending long and fatal from his fingertips, a metal instrument of coming death.

Rukia shifts in relief. She can hardly detect any hollow energy, although if she concentrates, a trace is undeniably there. She gives Ichigo a terse nod of affirmation.

Isshin is the first to recover after Rukia, rubbing grit out of his eyes. "That's a bit of an underwhelming bankai, isn't it?" he laughs, taking in the simplicity of the coat and the sword.

The corner of Ichigo's mouth twitches.

And then he is suddenly gone, borne by the wind.

"What –" Kaien falters, eyes unable to follow the movement, only able to discern the barest whisper of air as Ichigo passes him. Rukia relaxes, lowering Sode no Shirayuki with a sigh of tiredness.

Kaien notices. "What are you doing?" he says in alarm, shunpo-ing to her side. "The battle's not over yet, you can't drop your guard like that! Haven't I taught you not to –"

But he is forced to swallow his words whole at Rukia's smile, devoid of anything other than trust in her captain. "Don't worry, Kaien-dono," she says, "just _watch_. Try not to blink."

Kaien doesn't.

It is a sight to behold. All over the battlefield, on rooftops and alleyways and streets, hollows fall to a silent and swift blade, seemingly at once. Shinigami stumble awkwardly into walls as they are buffeted by something passing by, only to turn and find their enemy bleeding out at their feet. So terrifyingly fast does Ichigo move, the first drop of hollow blood from a felled monster does not touch the ground before the throats of twenty more are opened along Zangetsu's keen edge.

Kaien squints, sea-green irises struggling to catch a glimpse of Ichigo. He manages to see a whisper of a haori, ephemeral white at the turning of a corner, but nothing more. This is shunpo on a whole other level.

"Woweee…" Isshin whistles, eyes gleaming.

The other captains fare no better. Byakuya narrows his eyes as his writhing prey is snatched clean out of the jaws of Senbonzakura; Soi Fong snarls as she claws at thin air, her enemy collapsing a half-second before she reaches them; Zaraki howls in disappointment when a dozen hollows fall soundlessly twenty feet from his blade. Ukitake and Kyouraku merely sheathe their blades with a soft smile and an approving grin respectively.

In less than a minute, the battlefield is still.

Ichigo appears on a tiled spire of a rooftop, right arm and blade drenched with gore, coat flying in the wind. A glance upwards shows the gap in the sky closing, no longer bleeding hollows.

Ukitake holds out a slender finger, a hell butterfly alighting gently. A tinny recorded voice, a scientific officer from the science corps, ensues. "We have stabilized the breach; I repeat, we have stabilized the breach. Now running investigation on why hollows were able to enter undetected – preliminary data suggests _shielding_. Please be advised." The recording finishes.

The captains shift as one. _Shielding?_ Ichigo frowns – that would explain why only he felt a warning pulse that morning. His inner hollow must have enabled him to sense the incoming hollows. Shielding. _By who?_

Ichigo suddenly has a very good idea. He deactivates bankai as fast as possible, clamping down on his reiatsu while scanning for Rukia in a panic. _Where is she, where is she…_

A voice, mild and warm, but engraved in Ichigo's memory as high and cold, the voice of hell itself, a voice belonging to a person more beast than man, breaks into his thoughts.

Ichigo tries to calm his raging heart, and breathe through the sudden constriction of his airways, as he struggles to turn and meet the gaze still framed at that point in time by square glasses, a dove's mask on a snake.

Aizen Sosuke smiles warmly, scholarly brown eyes soft, the very picture of the kindest captain in the Gotei 13.

"That was very impressive indeed, young man. I believe I have not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance?"

* * *

**Well, muahahahaha…how do you like that?**

**I am fully aware that I am working myself into a potentially massive plothole. All those flashback arcs in the manga to how Aizen was in the past were not the clearest, and so I shall have to manage on my own. So if there are any disreprancies, please have mercy! :)**

**Please review, it makes me happy :) I will see you guys in around eight days or so :)**

**Replies to guest reviews:**

**Guest: Thanks for reviewing! I hope you liked this one too :)**

**vine: Thank you so much! Haha, I'm now feeling the plotholes involved in time-travel, because I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH AIZEN. Sob. But I shall manage. Ichiruki forever! :)**

**insertnamehere: Isshin is my favourite too, I hope you liked his bit in this chapter :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Bweeehhh I'm so tired….YAWNNNN…here's your chapter, people! I hope you like this one! I'm sleepy… But I had to write and finish today because I love you guys too much and you guys have been too nice to me :) So I couldn't be late :D Oh and I changed my line breaks because it breaks up some readers on phones, apparently :D Thanks for telling me. **

**Thanks to reviewers: IronEclipse, Eradona, boyo77, ilovebks, MerryKitten, vine, brialees, BleachFreak16, Guest, Juliedoo, Caeli et Inferno, Irishmate, Taichichaser2000, MugetsuIchigo, WarriorofAnime, Mahou001, poooy200, warrior-of-water, Tokyo's Child, Codegeasslulu, mypupps1, Darkkiss15, uzuki-chan, Mtmeye, Phantom Claire, Orange3WhiteSkew, Miss Namikaze, Tsuki no Yukihime, laughingspider, DLC2904, NobodyEpic.**

**I don't own Bleach. Here you go, enjoy!**

* * *

_Ichigo deactivates bankai as fast as possible, clamping down on his reiatsu while scanning for Rukia in a panic. Where is she, where is she…_

_A voice, mild and warm, but engraved in Ichigo's memory as high and cold, the voice of hell itself, a voice belonging to a person more beast than man, breaks into his thoughts._

_Sosuke Aizen smiles warmly, scholarly brown eyes soft, the very picture of the kindest captain in the Gotei 13._

"_That was very impressive indeed, young man. I believe I have not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance?"_

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The midmorning sun, finally risen out of the dreary half-sleep of early dawn, illuminates the aftermath of the battle. It is not selective in its choice of what to reveal; there is nothing especially poetic about what lies on the streets and rooftops of Seireitei. And so the streaming sunlight beats down on victory grins and scowls of pain alike, a score of streets painted crimson with gore, shouts of success, moans of the injured. But however messy the overall picture, the predominant feeling for most shinigami is _relief_.

Except for one.

For one, the sky darkens, the air freezes, his heart spasms under the sight of a supposedly warm smile, a half-crushed memory of this reiatsu signature, remembered as the prelude to horror and death, the hiss and rattle of a coiled snake.

For Ichigo, the sun is but a passing candle in the sudden chill in his soul. _Breathe. Breathe, you idiot!_ An emotion almost akin to panic swells in his chest, as he reflexively pulls his reiatsu so close to himself that Zangetsu grunts in pain, Ichigo's power suppressed to a mere swathe hovering above his taut skin.

_Control. Think. Breathe._

Ichigo tells himself to sheathe Zangetsu. He does, arm moving a second slower than he orders it to, his fingers shaking imperceptibly on the hilt. He feels Zangetsu take firm rein of his reiatsu, leaving him the inexpressibly more difficult job of clamping down on his emotions.

But it is terribly difficult when Ichigo finally meets Aizen's gaze, and that infuriating smirking sneer that everyone besides him sees as a kind smile. A new feeling floods Ichigo, a storm of rage so intense that for a moment he sees nothing but red, and Rukia's still form pierced by a blade, and he can smell the metallic tang of blood in the air, and hear the screams of shinigami falling from the sky –

"Are you quite alright, young man?" Aizen's voice, light and concerned.

_Control! You are a captain, not the _boy _that faced him then! And you still don't know where Rukia is._

The thought of Rukia is like a lightning strike. With a shuddering breath, and an almighty tug from Zangetsu in his mind, Ichigo comes back to himself, the maelstrom of fury compressed into a tightly bound ball of steel inside him. Ichigo pulls his features into a mockery of serenity, although his eyes still burn with hellfire.

Isshin, standing on an opposite roof, notices his tenseness, frowning in concern.

"Of course, Aizen-taichou," Ichigo hisses between his teeth. The honorific is forced, and he does not make the customary bow, not even the slight one he offered the other captains upon their meeting. He is _not_ going to bow to that _serpent_.

Aizen shifts, straightening his glasses with a sympathetic tilt of his head. "My apologies. A case of after-battle adrenaline, I suppose?" A light laugh. But his brown eyes are narrowed at the edges; unnoticeable to anyone but Ichigo, who takes this to be an indication that his lapse did not escape the mastermind's suspicion.

Around them, the captains turn to receive Aizen. It is undeniably strange to see them barely thirty feet apart and not with zanpakutuos drawn. There is no fearsome scowl on Soi Fong's face, nor frightening snarl on Komamura's, nor cold, deep-seated anger on Byakuya's.

Kyouraku adjusts his straw hat, giving Ichigo a cursory glance. Addressing Aizen, he smiles. "Welcome back from your extended mission, Aizen-taichou. If I may ask – I don't see your fukutaichou anywhere, or Tousen-taichou, for that matter. Did they get caught up?"

Aizen chuckles softly, raising the hairs on the nape of Ichigo's neck. "Gin-fukutaichou and Tousen-taichou are just finishing up some business. They will return soon." He gestures casually at Ichigo, who tenses. "I see that our young friend is known to everyone here except I. Would you be so kind as to introduce him?" A sly glint appears in his eyes. "I was not aware there was a _Fourteenth_ Division in the works as I departed on my mission."

It is Ukitake that answers, seeing with an inward sigh that most of the captains present would not be bothered to reply, Byakuya and Soi Fong being prime examples. "There wasn't," he starts shortly. "Kurosaki Ichigo-taichou arrived here three days ago through a scientific mishap from fifty-five years into the future."

Aizen's brows rise. His gaze is still benevolent, but the tilt of his head changes. A tiny twist appears in one corner of his mouth.

Ukitate continues. "He came with his fukutaichou, Kuchiki Rukia." Byakuya keeps a stolid poker-face behind him. "They are expected to be contacted by the future Mayuri in a few days, to bring them back to their timeline."

There is a short silence.

"My, my," Aizen says, "it is quite the honour to meet you, Kurosaki-taichou." Ichigo's lips are drawn into a thin line. He nods perfunctorily. "This is an…unexpected…turn of events. How is Kuchiki-taichou faring?" Aizen turns to Byakuya, a mask of compassion on his face.

"Well enough," Byakuya answers with his signature frostiness.

Komamura's rough growl cuts through. "All is well and good with the small talk, but we need to reorganize, and report to Soutaichou-sama. We'll update you with the situation there as well, Aizen-taichou."

"Of course, Komamura-taichou," Aizen says, bowing slightly in deference and spreading his hands in a gesture of respect. "I look forward to getting to know you better, Kurosaki-taichou." The last phrase is delivered in a façade of amiability, although Ichigo knows that he is hiding a fair amount of interest in him. Already, Ichigo can see Aizen sifting through the limited information on this new development, analyzing, planning how to twist it to his own advantage.

"Aa." Ichigo keeps his gaze level, quelling the turmoil inside him. His earlier reaction had spiked suspicion. Any more would cement it.

The captains turn in the directions of their respective headquarters, and disappear in a flash of shunpo. Aizen, too, leaves, but not before shunpo-ing to rest a friendly hand on Ichigo's shoulder. Ichigo goes rigid, a wave of pure revulsion flooding through him. He has to bite hard on his tongue to stop from drawing Zangetsu and hacking the man's arm off. Too late, he looks up to see a spark of gloating satisfaction leap in Aizen's irises. He pats Ichigo's shoulder twice in an offhandedly genial way, and leaps into the air.

Ichigo hates himself. He has all but confirmed his hatred for the captain – Aizen would be on his tail now. He unclenches his hands – he hadn't even realised they were balled into tight fists, nails digging into palms hard enough to draw blood.

_Center. Breathe._

"Bit tired, are you, after all that shmazz?" Isshin's voice sounds right next to him. Ichigo jerks reflexively away, absurdly unsettled and surprised by the appearance of his father next to him. He hadn't felt him leap to his side. _Was I that distracted?_

Two hands grab him by the shoulders, shaking them gently. Isshin's hands. The captain of the Tenth Division is quietly worried under that laughing demeanor, some unknown factor alerting him to Ichigo's distress. Ichigo realises he has yet to reply to Isshin's query. "Um, yeah, I suppose," he manages to eke out. A weak response. He tries again. "I'm fine, really."

Isshin is not fooled, but assumes that Ichigo really is tired. "Does that bankai of yours drain you _this_ much?" he says, eyebrows still slanted in a frown. "Get some rest after the meeting, okay?"

Ichigo almost chokes on a weird desire to laugh. He hasn't seen his dad this worried in a long time – he must have lost control just now more than he thought. "I'm _fine_," he says emphatically, brushing off Isshin's hands.

Isshin shrugs. "Get that cute girlfriend of yours to cheer you up," he grins.

_Rukia._

Ichigo pivots, and with a single leap, lands silently next to the still figure of Kaien, who is looking down at the cleanup efforts while twirling Nejibana. "Where's Rukia?" he asks quickly, dreading the answer. What if Aizen had somehow gotten to her first, snatched her out of the air when his back was turned…he slams the thought into dust. If Rukia is gone…his heart twists.

Kaien is taken aback by the ferocity of Ichigo's tone. "Take it easy, she's fine. She trusted you to get rid of the hollows here, and went to the academy to check on some friends – Renji, if I remember correctly?"

Ichigo tries not to sag with relief. "Thank you," he breathes. A heartbeat later, he is away, vanished like incorporeal smoke.

Isshin joins his nephew on the roof. Kaien acknowledges him with a nod. "He doesn't like Aizen-taichou, Uncle," he says somewhat conversationally.

"I know." The answer is unusually short and serious. Both men are in mutual understanding.

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The sun has shifted in its circle along the heavens, beating down upon the silent structure of the Shinigami Academy. Its halls are oppressively silent, strewn articles of clothing and study adorning the floors and dormitories almost like an apocalyptic decoration, ghostlike remnants of students evacuated. But the usually empty courtyard at the back of the massive structure is alive with chaotic mayhem, a hectic imitation of order. A series of temporary structures have been set up to shield students and instructors alike from the glare of the sun. In the mass of tents, the wounded are laid out, healing kido glowing in many hands, names accounted for in a brisk registration.

In the hectic activity, Renji picks his way through the raucous jumble of students, trying to fight his way out of the white – white canvas awning above his head, blue and red striped uniforms a sea before him. Hinamori had collapsed from exhaustion after overexerting herself in kido, and he had just left Kira tending to her in a shaded corner.

Not quite recovered from the blinding focus of adrenaline-pumped fight, Renji finds the hurried movements of the uniformed students terribly reminiscent of the hollows he had just carved through. _White, white, white._ His hand is continually twitching towards Zabimaru, and he clenches his teeth. He can smell the crispness of fresh winter air just ahead, an escape from the stifling sweat and clamour. _Nearly there._

Renji stumbles out into bright sunlight with almost a pained gasp of relief, closing his eyes to the feel of a brisk wind in the air. His fingers uncurl from his zanpaktuo's hilt. His first – no, second, taste of battle. Renji would have expected himself to calm down quicker, somehow regain his equilibrium sooner after the last strike of his blade, but he is still strangely unsettled. He thinks of the orange-haired captain that had single-handedly saved all their skins, and looked not even out of breath afterwards. _Kurosaki._ Was that his name?

Renji opens his eyes, about to turn back, when a flash of black on the rooftop catches the corner of his vision. The figure is facing away from him, about to leave. _A shinigami._ But no, not just any regular foot soldier, this one is petite, hands encased in soft white gloves, and Renji inhales sharply as he recognizes the tilt of her head and the way her feet alight on the ground –

"Rukia!" he shouts, running towards her. He has ignored her for a whole year, convincing himself that she is happier without his contact, working himself to the ground in order to somehow attain his goal of superseding her _brother_, but she is here now, and he is gravitating towards her before his mind has truly time to think.

The figure pauses on the rooftop, a shadow in the sphere of the sun, and hesitates. Renji shields his eyes, looking up at her. Then Rukia shifts, and is suddenly before him in a highly proficient exhibition of shunpo. He blinks. She didn't even _know_ shunpo when she had left.

"Renji." Her voice is soft, wistful. Renji swallows. Perhaps this means she has missed him too. She is marginally taller, mayhap a trick of sight due to her professional shinigami shihakushuo. Her face is the same as ever, but her violet eyes are deeper, more experienced, and her hair is shorn to short bob, sharpening the lines of her face. And with a jolting shock that jerks Renji back in its abruptness, he sees the fukutaichou's badge on her shoulder.

Renji finds himself unsure whether he likes the new look. It makes her look confident, but a stranger to him.

Rukia surprises him by breaking the silence first. "I'm glad you're okay," she says softly, looking him over. "You were in the fighting?"

It takes a moment for him to find his voice. "Yeah," Renji says huskily, cursing the choke in his voice. "You look…well." He bites his lip. That didn't sound convincing, even to himself.

A strange expression he doesn't comprehend flits over Rukia's face. It is a mixture of realisation, regret, understanding, and finally settles on guardedness, although a hint of remorse still softens her eyes. "I'm doing as well as can be expected, Renji."

Renji gestures sort of weakly at the wooden badge. "Fukutaichou, eh?" his voice is steady enough. "Congratulations. Must be the results of private training, right? Your, um, brother help you with that?" An unbidden spark of jealousy. He hides it.

Rukia does not nod and smile, like he expects her to. Instead, she withdraws into herself, the closed expression on her face melting into something almost like pain. Strangely, not fresh pain, but pain from a memory. Renji berates himself – he must have let his emotions into his tone after all. But Rukia sees, and quickly says, "Renji. It's not your fault. I'm not really –" She halts. "It's just…complicated, that's all. It's not you." Again, a trace of something hidden, deeper in her eyes that he cannot place.

_She doesn't look happy_, Renji realises. The guilt of leaving her alone for so long weighs heavy in his chest, and he finds himself speaking in a tumble of words. "I'm sorry, Rukia, for not contacting you, I thought you have a family now, and I assumed I should stay out of it. I was stupid –"

"It's okay, Renji," Rukia cuts in. "I forgave you long ago." She favours him with a small smile. Renji breathes out, hardly daring to believe her words. So great is his relief that he does not notice the peculiar phrase _long ago_; she had said it like it meant years. There are actually quite a few things about this Rukia that don't quite match up, but Renji is happily oblivious. He also smiles, tentatively, back.

"Are Hinamori-chan and Kira also okay?" Rukia asks, changing the subject.

"Yeah. Hinamori is a bit tired, but she'll be fine." Renji snorts. "Kira got out of it without a single scratch, but he still has that blasted gloom-face on – you know him."

Rukia sighs, disappointingly not even acknowledging his attempt at humour. "Listen," she begins, "I've got to –"

A rush of wind, and a voice halfway between controlled and frantic issues from above them. "Rukia!"

They do not even have time to look up, before the speaker is next to them, feet kicking up a small cloud of dust at the swiftness of his entry. Renji blinks at the sight of the shinigami captain from before, the one with the deadly speed. Kurosaki-something.

"Ichigo! You handled the situation?" Rukia answers, turning towards the new arrival. That answered the question. _Kurosaki Ichigo._ Renji doesn't know what to be more surprised, or alarmed, at – the fact that the first true smile he has seen from Rukia since their reunion has now blossomed like a sakura flower across her face, or that they are familiar enough to be on a first name basis. _How many captains does Rukia know personally?_

But Rukia has swiveled enough so the number on her badge is in full view. 十四. _Fourteenth Division._ Renji feels like he has been struck in the stomach. _He's her captain! He's _Rukia's_ captain…_

Ichigo doesn't answer her question, eyebrows drawn into a sharp V of worry. Rather, he looks her over as if checking for injuries. "Are you okay?" he asks searchingly, reaching for her hand. Renji shifts surreptitiously.

Rukia is confused for a second. "Of course I'm okay. I told Kaien-dono where I was going – I knew you could handle all the hollows by yourself in bankai mode." She steps closer to Ichigo, frowning. His hand is gripping hers far too tightly. "Something's wrong. What is it?" Her voice sharpens in apprehension.

Ichigo sweeps his gaze around them, as if checking for the presence of some unknown enemy, passing through Renji as if he was transparent – apparently he doesn't count as a threat. He bends his head protectively over Rukia's smaller form. Renji bristles slightly. Ichigo does not notice. "We need to go," he says to Rukia with an edge of authority, "_now_."

Renji has had enough of this man who has so far acted as if he is invisible. "Excuse me, _captain_," he breaks in testily, "but Rukia and I were talking. So if you don't mind…?" The words are barely on the acceptable edge of the proper level of respect, but he could care less about that. _And stop standing so close to her_, he adds in his thoughts.

Rukia opens her mouth to answer, but Ichigo gets there first, something hard and unshakeable in his eyes and tone. "Look, good as it is to see you, Renji, we have no time," he says shortly. "Goodbye." And with that, he crouches and blurs away, pulling Rukia away with him. She has no time to even make a sound of dissent.

The courtyard is still. Renji stares after them, hand curled on Zabimaru's hilt, the image of Ichigo's guarding hand on the small of Rukia's back echoing after their departure. He decides, quite conclusively, that he doesn't like the captain. At all.

A flutter of black and lilac wings. Renji steps back, head turning. _A hell butterfly?_ He hasn't seen one outside of basic skills lessons. Who is it for? He does a quick three-sixty, proving the courtyard quite empty. The butterfly hovers about a foot from his nose, patiently. Renji makes the unavoidable logical conclusion, however unlikely – the hell butterfly is for himself, a third year academy student.

He reaches out. It lands, antennae prickling his finger. Renji clears his throat. "Um," he says, "activate?"

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Ichigo tucks Rukia close to him as the buildings blur past, the winter chill whet to a knife-edge and streaming through his hair. He flicks a look behind him – no one following – and pirouettes in midair, jerking them into a ninety-degree turn to the left. Rukia gasps at the sudden vertigo, her shihakushuo sleeves fluttering up her arms as he spins dangerously close to a couple more walled corners before coming to a stop in a shaded alley. His feet splash through an old puddle, droplets dancing into the air. Ichigo sets Rukia down carefully, away from the mouth of the passage.

Rukia rounds on him, holding her ribs and struggling to catch her breath. She can't quite squeeze words past her wheezing, and settles for a malevolent glare instead. Ichigo brushes past her to check the street for shinigami. He finds none, and turns back to Rukia –

He runs into a fist.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR, ICHIGO?!" Rukia rages, still gasping for air. "I was talking to Renji, and suddenly _you_ storm in –"

Ichigo's hand is on her mouth. "Sshhh, _quiet_!" he hisses.

Rukia wrenches his fingers away. "_What is going on?_ You'd better have an acceptable explanation for this!"

Ichigo grimaces painfully. "Aizen is back."

_That_ shuts her up. Rukia's eyes grow impossibly wide, as the same emotions that Ichigo had felt before show themselves on her face – denial, fear, anger. She breathes raggedly, forcing air into her lungs. "How?" she manages faintly, "I thought he was on a extended mission with Gin and Tousen."

"He was. He's done with the mission. Gin and Tousen aren't far behind."

Rukia swallows. "I…we…Ichigo –"

Ichigo's warm, broad hands take her small ones in his, a hopeless attempt at comfort. She moves closer, eclipsed by his shadow.

"There's more." Ichigo's voice is cold and hard, already set in his defensive mechanism. Rukia looks up. "He's behind the hollow attack. There was a message from scientific headquarters confirming that they were shielded. _We_ know it has to be him. He just appeared out of nowhere behind me –"

Rukia goes very still. "He saw your bankai. He saw Tensa Zangetsu."

"Yes." There is no hiding it.

"Do you think he felt your inner hollow?"

"I don't know. I have no _way_ of knowing. But he already suspects me – I didn't react especially well at seeing him." Ichigo pauses, and turns to the wall, scrunching his eyes shut and cursing himself vehemently through his teeth.

A small but firm hand pulls his forehead away from the brick. "It wasn't your fault, Ichigo," Rukia says quietly. But her voice is tight, strained. "Ichigo," she continues, "what are we going to do?"

Ichigo doesn't know. He faces her, holding her hands like a lifeline, wordless. He's the captain here. He's supposed to be the one who has an answer. But all he can do is alternate between trying to convince himself that _Rukia is going to be safe_ and calming the seething tempest of fear and rage inside.

Rukia takes a deep, steadying breath. "Right," she states determinedly, even though her violet eyes quaver, "have you felt anything from Urahara yet?"

Ichigo shakes his head. "Nothing. But he said a few days, so it won't be long. We just need to _delay_."

Rukia bites her lip. "We need a strategy," she says, some of the strength returning to her tone. "We can't just rush headlong into a duel of minds with…_him_. Okay. What is the absolute upper limit on anything we can do against Aizen without changing the future?"

Her composed logic is reassuring for Ichigo. He straightens. "Well," he starts, growling with suppressed frustration, "we can't kill the stinking worm." Rukia narrows her eyes, sensing more. "Apart from the obvious fact that we actually have him to thank for our meeting in Karakura in the first place," Ichigo continues, "Did I ever tell you how my parents met, Rukia?" She shakes her head, hair shifting over her cheekbones. Ichigo snorts, a sound of profound irony. "Kurosaki Masaki, a pure-blood quincy, first laid her eyes on Shiba Isshin when she saved him from a half-complete _arrancar_ experiment."

Rukia takes a moment to fully absorb the significance of this. "Are you telling me," she whispers, "that you were _born_ because of Aizen?" Her fingers curl into his haori.

Ichigo smiles, a pained grimace. "My birth was a subsequent result, yes."

"We kill him, we kill…you."

"Yeah." The word hangs in the air.

Rukia shivers. Then she seems to deliberately shake it off. "I suggest we don't cause him any physical harm at all. It's safer that way," she says briskly. "I'm sure Urahara isn't stupid enough not to have a contingency plan for the rest. All the same, we _can't_ let him find out about your hollow powers. You're an unidentified quantity, Ichigo."

"Thanks," he quips, a hint of sarcasm breaking the weight of the conversation.

A roll of Rukia's eyes. "I meant that you're essentially what he has been working towards – a flawless blend of shinigami, hollow, quincy. You're the perfect result to an experiment he's only half completed. It's like a glimpse of the ideal that could be. It could accelerate his plans tenfold, and wreck the sequence of events."

"I'm perfect? Wow, _really_, thanks." Ichigo is grinning, now, although the worry has not left his eyes.

Rukia glares, and hits him, hard. "_I didn't mean it that way_, and you know it. Idiot."

"I'll take it that way, thank you." Another half-grin. He gets a kick in the shins. But Ichigo is serious again as he looks down at her. "We're to attend a debriefing at the captain's meeting hall, as soon as they're finished clearing up after the attack."

Her hands grip his tighter. "We can't avoid him, then."

"No," he says shortly. "You'll probably be restricted to an observer's status. It is a _captain's_ meeting, but you need to be there. We weren't supposed to be in the fighting in the first place – there might be consequences." He smiles humourlessly.

Rukia nods her understanding. "Okay," she says, almost to herself. "Okay."

"Hey," Ichigo says, "we'll get through this." A lingering echo of their conversation the night before, on the ice. How different the future looks now. He closes the gap between them in less than a step, gathering her into the safety of his arms. Rukia hugs him back fiercely, surprising him with the strength of her embrace. Ichigo holds her close, both to reassure himself that she is still here, unharmed, and to reduce the biting cold encroaching on his heart.

The hollow attack is over, but they are going into a new war.

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The grand doors to the captain's meeting hall are ornate, exquisitely beautiful, and for most, an entrance not unlike that to their own personal hell. The double doors are so magnificently tall, the hallway leading up to them seems a lot shorter by eye than it actually _feels_ like as shinigami stride, walk, shuffle up its length. Even those that are determined to enter with their backs straight and heads high fail in the end, for as they take each step towards their fate at the end of the corridor, the immeasurable weight of history, tradition, power, and _honour_ falls on their shoulders until they stand in front of the gilded entrance feeling like a babbling toddler looking up at some godlike entrance to a council of deities.

Ichigo stands at the beginning of the hallway, head held tense and level, brown eyes fixed on the destination ahead. Rukia is beside him, her diminutive form made even more insignificant by the imposing height of the hall. They are both late. By unspoken consent, neither had wished to spend a second more in the company of Aizen than absolutely necessary.

But they are here now.

Ichigo shifts. "Let's go," he says softly, resolutely.

Rukia does not answer. They move forward together. Three steps later, her small hand intertwines in his. Ichigo looks at her for a moment, finding her still looking unwaveringly ahead. He understands. This is not a moment of weakness, but a declaration that they would face this hell together. He grips her hand tightly in return.

Thirty feet from the grand entrance that dwarfs them, the doors open smoothly, gliding back on golden hinges.

Rukia lets go of his hand, the comforting warmth of her fingers slipping away. Ichigo clenches his fist. Into the breach they go.

The meeting hall reveals every captain present bar Tousen, eleven haoris gleaming white, eleven zanpakutuos belted, deadly. Isshin, to one side, winks at them. It is no comfort. Ichigo had been in this very same room but a few days ago, with Rukia unconscious on the other side of Sereitei and ten pairs of eyes ready to label him as ryoka, and not felt a single spark of fear. But no, there are eleven pairs of eyes today. And that makes all the difference.

Aizen smiles a gentle smile, eyes half-hidden behind his wire-framed glasses, standing serenely in his place on the left of the Soutaichou.

Ichigo and Rukia give a formal bow to the hall in general, executed perfectly – Rukia a little deeper than him, for that is her traditional place as a fukutaichou. Ichigo straightens, and is dimly aware that Rukia has taken two neat steps backwards, and pivoted to give him a secondary bow. "Kurosaki-taichou," she murmurs appropriately, and he has to force himself from biting his tongue at the sudden formality. But her proper etiquette is like a douse of cold water into his face. It reminds him of their inferiority in this hall, as foreigners on probation. And it reminds him that he and Rukia are separated by a lot more than physical distance in this hall. She is bound and mute here. Ichigo is alone.

Ichigo watches as Rukia walks sedately to Byakuya, taking her place one pace to the left and two behind him. She is admirably still and collected, gaze passing over Aizen as if he blends into the background with all the other captains. Ichigo breathes out, slowly.

A crack of wood on marble.

All captain shift to attention as Yamamoto regards Ichigo levelly, long-nailed hands clacking on the polished wood of his cane. "So you do possess manners, child. What has changed today that you see it fit to honour us with your respect, Kurosaki-taichou?"

Ichigo smiles grimly. "A wise captain reads the situation, Soutaichou-sama." A short, perfunctory bow.

Yamamoto's eyes have lost none of their piercing quality in their age. His gaze flicks to Rukia, who is politely looking at the floorboards, head down in deference, then back at Ichigo. A twist in the old man's mouth. "So you do know that you have broken the boundaries of the rules that bind your stay here. The consequences will come later, after we discuss more important things. Mayuri-san, your report?"

Mayuri shuffles forward, head twitching, the black sections of his striped face somehow paler, holding a sheaf of notes. "Ah, yes," he says in that oily voice of his, "my preliminary readings. There was no lapse in the scientific department's monitoring equipment, nor any glitches that we can find. All devices appear to be fully functional – there is no mechanical explanation for why the hollows did not show up on readings before they broke into Seireitei's boundaries." He clears his throat, shuffling through his papers. "I have to conclude – with my deepest apologies and regrets – that this recent phenomenon is not one which my department can give any solid data on. The hollows were shielded, that is all I can say. Besides, the sheer _amount_ of power it would take to rip such a large hole in not only the fabric of this space but also Seireitei's shields…" he wrings his hands delicately, and steps back in line.

The Soutaichou taps his nails thoughtfully, the sound echoing about the hall. "I will say now that I did not sense them until they had entered Seireitei itself. It is a small matter for me to admit this. There is no need to defend a false sense of pride. Did any of you sense them before the general alarm sounded?"

The hall is oppressively silent. Ichigo is so still, he could pass for a statue.

Then cultured tones sound out like water breaking over smooth sand. "Forgive me, but I have a small query. I did not sense them either, but I'm afraid I'm unclear on a certain point." Aizen tilts his head innocently.

Ichigo tenses, unconsciously balancing his weight on the balls of his feet, a combat-ready stance.

Yamamoto grunts. "You may speak."

Aizen steps forward fluidly. "I passed by the Shinigami Academy when I first arrived back in Seireitei – as you all undoubtedly know, the academy was the first point under attack – and the headmaster informed me that Kurosaki-taichou had dealt with the first wave single-handedly before any student casualties occurred. And while, I am sure, we are all indebted to you for your quick action," he bows to Ichigo sincerely, "you arrived at the academy immediately after the alarm sounded – before any of us. My question is, how did you know?"

Eleven pairs of eyes drill into Ichigo's. There is a subtle change in the atmosphere, a sharpening in reiatsus that weigh on the air and suddenly make it difficult to breathe. Even Isshin is frowning, although his expression holds no accusation.

Ichigo's fists are clasped so tight, his nails have worked bloody furrows into his skin. He should have known that Aizen would know about the academy – he orchestrated the first point of attack, after all. _Curse that sick, manipulative…_ Rukia's shoulders are tense as she, too, looks at him. Her violet eyes burn with intensity.

Yamamoto shifts, chair creaking under him. "Answer, child," he says. The words are soft, but they hold centuries of steel. There is no doubt that it is an order.

Aizen gestures warmly. "Please understand. I'm not trying to accuse you of anything – I'm just a bit confused, that's all. Would you care to set my mind at ease, Kurosaki-taichou?"

* * *

**Aizen's really a slick manipulator, isn't he? Now Ichigo has to lie and dance his way out of trouble – not that he isn't already in heaps of it. It won't take much more poking from Aizen to paint him black. Sigh. Hope you guys liked it!**

**Please review! Please :) It makes me happeh :)**

**Answers to guest reviews:**

**vine: Thank you! Gin…yes, he will turn up eventually, I think :) Look up for the evil trio, muahahaha :)**

**Guest: Why thank you, and here's your update!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, people! Here's the next chapter a day early, because I worked extremely hard to write it :) Thank you all so much for all the support, I love you guys lots :D It's been a pretty busy week for me, but you still get a chapter (and longer than usual, too)!**

**Thanks to reviewers: MugetsuIchigo, IronEclipse, brialees, BitterSweetNitemare, uzuki-chan, MerryKitten, DLC2094, Miss Namikaze, WarriorofAnime, BleachFreak16, Phantom Claire, Taichichaser2000, Orange3WhiteSkew, Darkkiss15, tsukuneXmoka, NobodyEpic, mypupps1, Tsuki no Yukihime, blades of blood488, xvkljb, ilovebks, Debido, Mtmeye, Chirpy Hitomi chan, laughingspider, StreakingHerculobus, UseYourImagination, warrior-of-water, Faia Sakura.**

**I don't own Bleach. Here you go, hope you guys like it!**

* * *

_Ichigo's fists are clasped so tight, his nails have worked bloody furrows into his skin. He should have known that Aizen would know about the academy – he orchestrated the first point of attack, after all. Curse that sick, manipulative… Rukia's shoulders are tense as she, too, looks at him. Her violet eyes burn with intensity. _

_Yamamoto shifts, chair creaking under him. "Answer, child," he says. The words are soft, but they hold centuries of steel. There is no doubt that it is an order._

_Aizen gestures warmly. "Please understand. I'm not trying to accuse you of anything – I'm just a bit confused, that's all. Would you care to set my mind at ease, Kurosaki-taichou?"_

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

There are many types of silence. The absence of sound does not in itself prevent a spate of non-noise from being wonderfully delicate and multi-faceted in construction. Sometimes, rarely, a silence is so thick and heavy and grim it weighs down on the very air, and settles past quivering eardrums to rest on a thudding heart that one thinks _must_ be loud enough for the entire room to hear.

This particular type of silence in the captain's meeting hall is certainly _expectant_. It is also _suspicious_, with a tint of _wariness_.

In the frantic velocity that is Ichigo's thoughts, he registers that if he does not reply in approximately the next five seconds, the room will tend itself to _accusation_. His palms are clammy, but he dares not show his weakness by wiping them on his haori.

To buy himself time, Ichigo feigns a look of calm superiority. "Respectfully, my captains," he says, "I am extraordinarily fast. Speed is one of my reiatsu's specialties, as you have all seen."

Aizen's smile widens, but he surprisingly does not answer, eyes flicking to Byakuya.

"Do not mock us, Kurosaki Ichigo," Byakuya's cool tones sound out, "Your bankai is impressive, but your activating it on the battlefield created a reiatsu shockwave several kilometres in breadth. I felt no such disturbance in the early morning in my home." His ice-grey eyes are unmercifully hard.

Yamamoto leans forward, and a suffocating reiatsu permeates the air, as if all moisture is suddenly sucked out into nonexistence. Ichigo's mouth goes dry. The old man's gaze is unchanged, but there is a definite coldness to his voice as he says softly, "Answer, boy. Do not lie."

Ichigo meets Rukia's eyes. Her hands are clenched tightly, knuckles paler even than the white of her gloves. Ichigo closes his eyes for a moment, still maintaining a façade of nonchalance, hiding the turmoil of fear and frustration beneath.

Then a lightning strike of inspiration. _A half-truth._ His best bet against a master of lies.

Ichigo sighs, spreading his hands in a gesture of hopeless capitulation. "So be it," he says, dipping his head. He straightens, and his voice is steel. "What I am about to tell you is shortened and summarized out of necessity, although I assure you it is not abridged. It is the truth. I ask that I may be allowed to finish without interruption."

"Of course, Kurosaki-taichou," comes the gentle reply from the wolf in sheep's clothing. Aizen hides his interest well.

Ichigo clears his throat. "I did sense the hollows before they entered Seireitei, due to a series of events that occurred before my birth. I am sure you have all heard of something called 'Fullbring' before?"

The tenor of silence changes palpably in the room. All are suddenly paying very close attention. Aizen's smile is unaffected.

Ichigo clasps his hands behind his back. "Fullbring powers come as a result of a hollow wound, transmitted from mother to child. Before I was born, my mother fell victim to a hollow attack." His voice is controlled, merely retelling facts.

Across the room, Isshin blanches momentarily before forcing his face into a semblance of calm.

Ichigo continues, "The injuries were rather severe. As such, I was born with Fullbring powers. They are strong compared to an average Fullbring user, but a mere shadow, a raindrop in the sea against my shinigami powers. As such, I never sought to use them. Zangetsu is infinitely superior." He gestures to his zanpakutuo. "But it remains that I possess them. You may not all be aware, but Fullbring powers resemble hollow more than shinigami in true nature. Mayuri-san may confirm this."

Mayuri nods quickly, hands twitching as he beckons for Ichigo to finish.

"When the hollows appeared this morning, something…_resonated_…in my chest. I…knew," Ichigo finishes. And it is the truth – in a way – for not a single sentence by itself had been a lie. He looks levelly at the captains before him, noting Rukia's relieved shoulders, Isshin's slightly ill expression, and Aizen's unchanged smile.

"Thank you, Kurosaki-taichou," Aizen says kindly, "I am deeply sorry to hear about your mother. I am sure you are telling the truth, since Mayuri-san has corroborated it."

Ichigo is not fooled. Aizen retracting so easily must mean that he has foreseen another development to further his plans, whatever they are. Ichigo's teeth grind together silently.

The answer comes almost immediately. Mayuri waves a hand in interruption. "Ah, not quite. You see, there _is_ scientific evidence that Fullbring powers are in quality much like that of hollows – that much I have said already." His white and black face twitches as he speaks. "But I am not convinced they are capable of, um, _resonating_ together as Kurosaki-san has said. I would need a bit more information to make a scientific judgment."

Aizen outwardly looks suitably concerned at this, but Ichigo catches a hint of arrogant success in that gently smiling mouth. The other captains remain unconvinced, although several now seem less accusatory, Ukitake and Kyouraku included.

Yamamoto regards Ichigo silently. Ichigo gazes back, unflinching. Then with a thoughtful gesture of his cane, the Soutaichou speaks. "Mayuri-san. Are you informing me that unless further information is gained, you cannot ascertain whether Kurosaki-taichou's explanation is viable?"

"Exactly that, Soutaichou-sama," Mayuri intones, bowing.

"I do not lie." Ichigo's voice is hard, although internally he understands how fine a grip he has on the situation.

"I am not accusing you of such, boy," Yamamoto replies. "But we cannot let this stand without further investigation. You will go with Mayuri-san and undergo whatever tests he deems necessary to prove your innocence."

Rukia stifles a noise, so small that only Byakuya notices. Ichigo tenses, and shakes his head. "No," he says shortly. That would be akin to revealing his inner hollow for all to see.

The tension in the room returns full force. Yamamoto thunders, "It was not a suggestion, child. You will go."

Ichigo flings a hand at Mayuri. "I will not become an experimental plaything for that man. Besides, a full report on my powers will have a significant effect on future events, something we agreed to avoid." He withdraws his pointed finger before his hand starts shaking.

Across the room, Aizen is silent, and still smiling.

"Maa maa," Isshin interrupts in a forcibly light tone, "is that really necessary? He _did_ just save all our butts from a mass of hollows, can't we go a little easier on him?" His joker's grin is strained.

Yamamoto cracks his staff hard on the marbled ground. "It is not your place, Isshin-san," he says, dismissing him with a wave of gnarled hands, "and his actions do not work in his favour. Where are the two reiatsu-suppressing bracelets we gave you, Kurosaki-taichou?"

Ichigo jolts in surprise, looking down at his wrists. He had completely forgotten the existence of the bracelets. The moment he had blurred into high-speed shunpo at the academy courtyard, they had crumbled into dust, burned to ashes by the sheer magnitude of his reiatsu. They hadn't been engraved into his memory for the simple reason that they did not offer any material resistance to his reiatsu. "I –" he stumbles, "ah –"

Komamura's bark cuts in. "You broke them without even having to think about it."

"No," Ichigo says carefully, "I severed them when I discovered that the academy needed immediate assistance."

But it is not enough. The balance, so precariously tipped in Ichigo's favour, now tilts back towards suspicion. Ichigo is a threat. Already, the captains are shifting, and the lines on Yamamoto's face are dangerously severe. Ichigo sees Rukia's pale face behind Byakuya, her hands gripping Sode no Shirayuki tightly. She shakes her head quickly. _No. Don't look at me._

Too late. The attention shifts to her. "We have not discussed your involvement, Kuchiki-fukutaichou," Yamamoto says. "Do not assume that your motives will not be similarly questioned. You too broke the rules of your stay by leaving the Kuchiki compound and releasing your zanpakutuo."

Rukia bows deeply. "Of course, Yamamoto-Soutaichou-sama," she murmurs. She cannot afford to cause any more offense as it is – her only option is to be as submissive as possible. Byakuya is expressionless beside her. With a strange twist of her heart, Rukia knows that she cannot expect any support from her Nii-sama. Not this one.

Yamamoto thankfully switches his focus back to Ichigo, whose mask of serenity has slipped somewhat due to the sudden attack on Rukia. "Enough of this. You cannot expect us to ignore the fact that the hollows were shielded from a highly powerful individual. You will go with Mayuri-san immediately. Mayuri-san," and here he addresses the scientist, "be thorough."

Ichigo is tense as a coiled spring. His hands tremble, and twitch towards Zangetsu. They are rapidly running out of options – to go with Mayuri means certain exposure of his hollow powers. To resist and flee would not last long, not with the entire Gotei on their trail – the Rukongai is only so large. Then he would be dragged bodily to the Twelfth Division while Rukia would be locked up like a criminal –

A clear lilt breaks through his desperation. "If I may, Yamamoto-sama," Aizen says earnestly, "although I appreciate the possible threat that this uncertainty over Kurosaki-taichou's explanation may pose, I do see an equally dire problem arising from the possible implications this, ah, _examination_ may have on the future. If I may suggest a solution?"

There is no wind in the closed-off hall, but a chill runs down Ichigo's spine as he suddenly realises that he is sweating profusely. His face is calm, but his body betrays him.

Yamamoto regards Aizen. "We will hear you, Aizen-taichou."

"Thank you, Soutaichou-sama. I suggest that Kurosaki-taichou be removed from the relatively unsupervised lodgings that he currently resides in, and brought to a secure location where he can be monitored more closely. There is no need to treat him so harshly – after all, we owe him the lives of many of our students. I myself would be glad to take him into my division temporarily."

The words hit Ichigo like the memory of the unbelievable pressure of the Soukyou blade, the sudden dawn of realisation that clenches his heart and draws all breath from his lungs. _That vile serpent…_

There is no escape from this web of lies, spun expertly on carefully timed silences and daintily selected words, picked out of thin air by a mind cavorting on the breathtaking art of cruel manipulation. On one side, there is experimentation at the hands of Mayuri, ultimately revealing what Ichigo is. On the other, the achingly gentle smile of a captain who is just too kind to allow this young man to be tortured, and so reaches out to save him out of inexpressible goodwill. Kind, kind Aizen.

Aizen's sympathetic look is the cold steel of a sword between Ichigo's ribs, implacable, unmovable, _triumphant_.

And here comes the agonizing twist of that blade.

Aizen continues, "In fact, I would be glad to take both of them into my division." He turns, and gives Rukia a reassuring smile. "I see no reason to separate them."

Ichigo is going to be violently sick over the marble floor. _Not Rukia, no, not Rukia._ He is shaking, now.

Rukia is impressively calm, but her eyes belie her terror. She looks into Ichigo's eyes, violet irises trembling.

Then there is a shift of a haori, and Byakuya moves with elegant grace between his sister and Aizen. "No," he says coldly. "From the future or not, she is a Kuchiki. She shall not leave my household."

Ichigo could run over and _embrace_ the man, if he could. Rukia shivers once, in relief.

Yamamoto is contemplative. Then he makes his decision. "Your concerns are justified, Aizen-taichou. So be it. Kurosaki-taichou will go to the Fifth Divison barracks. Kuchiki-fukutaichou will remain under the custody of Kuchiki-taichou. But they will both bear the strongest reiatsu suppressors that you can produce, Mayuri-taichou. It is a precaution that cannot be avoided."

Byakuya tilts his head slowly. But he makes no argument, lips pressed into a thin line.

Ichigo wets his dry mouth. "I make no suggestion on my part, but may I request that my fukutaichou need not wear such–"

"Silence, child," Yamamoto thunders, reiatsu skewering the room. The air is so arid, Ichigo can feel his lips cracking due to the lack of moisture. A bead of crimson runs down his chin, and the rusty metallic tang of blood is bitter on his tongue. He cannot win this argument.

Mayuri wriggles his fingers. "I'll procure two pairs immediately," he says smoothly, cupping his hands and flicking a hell butterfly in the direction of the doors. "My fukutaichou will arrive with them shortly."

Emanating a delicately satisfied air, Aizen steps back in line with a low bow, a pretense of undoubted relief at his successful _rescue_ of both Ichigo and Rukia on his gentle face. Ichigo stares openly at him, seeing what no one else except Rukia can see in that humble visage – an mocking joy at seeing the captains fold so easily to his will, mere instruments dancing to his conductor's baton.

The next few minutes are the longest of Ichigo's life. He holds himself rigidly expectant, knowing that Aizen has won the first battle with flying colours. Ichigo clamps down on the rising gorge of self-hatred at not foreseeing this twisted new development – _there is no time for that now_ – and struggles to predict Aizen's next move.

Ichigo meets Rukia's eyes. They will be separated. That is both a blessing and a curse. With Rukia sequestered at the Kuchiki mansion under Byakuya's protection, Ichigo has the small luxury of only worrying after his own position. But he will be trapped in the lair of the snake itself, a hellhole filled with a hundred ardent supporters of this monster. And he finds the knowledge that she will be torn away from him on this chessboard of snake and mouse like a knife wound to his heart.

Rukia is deathly pale, her white face making her amethyst eyes seem all the rounder. Ichigo holds her gaze, trying to comfort without words. _Be safe_, his eyes implore her. _I'll be okay. Wait for me._ She bites her lower lip so hard a thread of scarlet winds its way to her pointed chin, mirroring the line on Ichigo's face. Her eyes are mute, pools of terrified worry. For him.

Then the quiet tapping of approaching footsteps announces the arrival of Kurotsuchi Nemu, slight hands weighed down by four thick, heavy cuffs. She shuffles to where her master and father is, and bows deferentially, proffering the shackles.

"What took you so long, filth?" Mayuri says cruelly, taking the cuffs. He waves his hand, as if dismissing a pet. She nods twice quickly, as if glad to escape further abuse, and retreats hastily, closing the doors behind her.

Yamamoto gives a long, slow nod. Mayuri bows, and trots over to Ichigo, whose back is ramrod straight. "Please hold out your hands, Kurosaki Ichigo," he says. The cuffs are gleaming silver, weighty bands of solid steel-like metal. They are not the paltry beaded bracelets of before.

Ichigo proffers his wrists, a forced expression of absolute boredom on his face, eyes looking into a faraway section of the ceiling. Only the set of his shoulders reveal his tension. Mayuri leans forward, and brushes the setting on the cuffs to maximum. "Here we go," he says, and with no further ado, clips the reiatsu restraints onto Ichigo's wrists with a underwhelming _snip_.

The effect is immediate. A blinding rush of nausea – Zangetsu roars, his inner hollow howls in pain as Ichigo's vast sea of reiatsu is burned upon a pyre, wrenched from his fingers, ripped from his very soul and locked in a forbidding vessel of cold steel. For a moment, Ichigo cannot breathe, see, or hear – all there is in his consciousness is the deafening cataclysm that is his fluttering heart, the horror as Zangetsu and his inner hollow begin to fade from the recesses of his mind, and terrible, terrible _rage_…

Then, as if released on rebound from a singularity, the feeling vanishes with a _pop_. Air rushes into his lungs. He gasps, once. Outwardly, he had only frozen for a moment compared to the eternity in his mind. _Zangetsu? You still there?_ He is half-pleading. _Yes_, Zangetsu answers roughly, _barely_.

"An admirable show of fortitude, Kurosaki-taichou," Yamamoto says. "Few can boast of such a feat. For that at least you have my respect."

Isshin looks sickly green, not even a ghost of humour left in his expression.

Aizen looks on, head bowed mildly.

Ichigo does not even think of answering, the words echoing strangely in this new reality. He feels fuzzy – his reiatsu must have made him hyperaware as of normalcy, and now his senses are dull, sharpened corners blunted. But surprisingly, his reiatsu hums gently in his core. He stifles a tiny smile. He must really be ridiculously powerful, because his reiatsu has balanced out the suppressive nature of the cuffs, leaving him clouded but not non-functional.

A movement in the corner of his eye alerts him that Mayuri is walking towards Rukia, setting the bracelets likewise to full power. Byakuya shifts to one side to allow him to pass. _No, she can't handle full power!_ Ichigo opens his mouth, but Mayuri has taken Rukia's thin wrists roughly and slapped the manacles on.

Ichigo shouts out loud, a sound of desperation and terrible rage.

Rukia shudders once, a convulsion so violent that her teeth knock together. Her reiatsu fluctuates wildly, lashing out before it is reigned in by some unstoppable force. Then her knees give out and she crumples to the floor.

Byakuya reaches down, then pauses and steps away neatly. His face is a cold mask.

Ichigo flings himself in Rukia's direction, nearly tripping over his own feet as his shunpo is reduced to a much slower level than he is used to. He kneels next to her, hands reaching to grasp her shoulders. Rukia's eyes are wide open, pupils dilated, and she is trying to draw breath and failing.

"Look at me, Rukia!" Ichigo says, tipping her chin up. "Breathe. _Breathe, Rukia!_" He supports her frail weight, shaking her insistently.

With a pained gasp, Rukia inhales, eyes coming back into focus. Her small mouth tries to form words, and fails. Each shaking breath saps all her strength. Ichigo draws her close, pressing her head into his shoulder. She trembles. He stares past her, up at Byakuya, condensing all his disgust into a single look. _She is your sister._

Byakuya's icy façade of indifference slips a little. Then his hand is under Rukia's elbow, lifting her weight off Ichigo's arms. She dangles limply, only able to partially support her own weight. Her fingers trail his as they leave his hand.

Yamamoto clears his throat. "Meeting dismissed," he states shortly.

Aizen smiles.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The world is a stomach-churning wash of vivid colour and sickening changes in gravity, a mess of sound and sight and taste. Though with eyes open, Rukia is good as blind, unable to process any information past the roaring of blood in her ears, and the horrifying feeling of loneliness that pervades her soul.

Sode no Shirayuki is absent from Rukia's consciousness, and her mind feels as empty as it did all those years ago, alone in a big house with a brother that barely looks at her and with her friends in another world. The feeling had been partially diminished by the brief moment that strong arms had wrapped around her and a hand had stroked her hair; although she could not understand the words, they had rushed into her heart in a beautifully familiar way, comforting her without her understanding.

But a vice-like grip had closed around Rukia's elbow, and she had been dragged away from the safe circle of those arms, and the world titled about its axis and she had to fight to prevent from sicking up over her sandals.

_Wait for me._ The words echo blankly in her head. Who had said those words? When? An ageless time ago…

The colour of her surroundings is changing, now. It's brighter. And colder. Her feet scrape in the dirt as she dangles helpless. The pain only faintly registers.

Then Rukia is scooped up in a pair of arms, she sees white, and her feet aren't dragging on the ground anymore. The wind rushes over her glazed eyes. But this pair of arms are different from the previous soothing ones. Her head jolts uncomfortably, and her arm hangs limply to one side – this person doesn't really know how to carry her properly.

She misses the other person. The nice, reassuring one with soft words.

Rukia passes through some sort of archway, a door of some kind. She dimly realises the thudding of feet indicates more people, some dressed in white, one dressed in black. Then broad hands take her wrists, and flick some sort of switch.

The world comes rushing back into focus, an influx of colour, a riot of sound and memory. Rukia rolls over and dry-heaves. "Ichigo…" she whispers, reaching out blindly for him.

He is not there.

The unforgiving cold grey of her Nii-sama's eyes are before her, instead. "I have turned the cuffs to a lower setting," he says without inflection. "Your sentence is to wear the cuffs, and to be confined to this house. The Soutaichou did not specify the exact power setting that the restraints were to be set at." The unspoken words lie before them. _I did not break the law._

"Nevertheless," Byakuya continues, "you may not contravene the rules of your sentence. You will not take a single step outside this house." And with that, he sweeps away, haori fluttering behind him as steps towards his study.

Rukia takes deep breaths, only having half-listened to her brother. Her hands seem weighed down by a heaviness disproportional to the size of the cuffs. She watches her the retreating back of her Nii-sama, rigidly straight. _Nii-sama…_

Then a small voice breaks into her thoughts. "Um, are you alright? Can you stand?"

A look reveals that it is the younger Rukia, garbed in her shihakushuo, her face halfway between horror and worry.

"I – yes," Rukia says simply. She lets her younger self help her up, only wincing slightly as her feet take her weight. She begins to hobble towards her room, a small crowd of servants dithering behind them.

The other Rukia swallows, looks at her askance, and asks with no small dose of trepidation, "Is Ichigo-taichou returning soon too?"

Rukia nearly falls over her own feet, but manages to catch herself. She cannot explain. She cannot begin to imagine. _I'll be okay. Wait for me._ Her heart twists.

The other Rukia is still waiting.

"No," Rukia says softly.

And she is silent for the rest of the way back to her room.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The corridors of the Fifth Division are bright and airy, sunlit pillared corridors welcoming and warm. The division is led by the kindest captain of the Gotei 13; the fukutaichou is a bit creepy, yes, but Aizen-taichou is great friends with him, so no danger; and as a result, the atmosphere in the barracks are of a certain camaraderie. The barracks also boast communal gardens – testament to their captain's good taste – and mess halls full of companionable shinigami. The Fifth Division is decidedly team-like, a good place to be for a new graduate of the Shinigami Academy.

Supposedly, anyway. Renji fingers the fine black cloth of his new shinigami shihakushuo, resplendent in its stark newness. It feels very different from his white academy uniform, heavier, somehow, more significant. Every time he passes a reflective surface, he surprises himself with the new seriousness of the look. Even Zabimaru seems grander, stuck in his belt. He actually stopped the first couple of times to admire himself – discreetly, of course.

It's a good feeling.

Renji is walking from the offices of the Fifth to the barracks, having just been briefed on his sudden induction into the division by Aizen-taichou himself. The hell butterfly _had_ been for him, it turned out – a congratulatory message requesting the "honour" of his entry into shinigami duty, him having proven himself worthy of such a position. A politely flabbergasted Renji had stumbled his way back to Hinamori and Kira, to find them each with their own hell butterflies.

Aizen had congratulated them all individually, pointing out that their bravery and skill during the battle shows them well-deserving of an on-field promotion. Hinamori had practically melted into puddles of abject hero-worship at being addressed by _the_ Aizen. Renji found the man welcoming enough, but he didn't really see what Hinamori saw in him. There was something about the way he hid his eyes behind those glasses.

Both Hinamori and Kira were sent off before Renji to their new respective quarters. Aizen had talked to Renji for a little while longer, praising him on his obvious leadership towards his friends.

"I trust that you will be an excellent shinigami. If you see anything that bothers you, please do not hesitate to contact me directly. I will always have time to listen."

Renji isn't quite sure what to make of that. It smacked a bit of, well, _tattling_. He isn't about to become Aizen's little informer.

_Oh well. Can't complain._ From student to shinigami in less than a day. A job well done. Renji grins broadly, stretching as he walks. Now all he has to do is find his new barrack room and meet his roommate. He hopes it's someone reasonable.

_Oh look._ _The doors are right up ahead._ As the welcome shadow of the eaves passes over his face, he abruptly realises the halls are full of whispering shinigami, huddled in frenetic groups of twos and threes.

Renji saunters up to a random unseated shinigami, and asks upfront, "What's going on with everyone?"

The shinigami gives him a frown, then looks him up and down quickly. "Oh, new, are you?" the shinigami says, cutting off Renji's scowl with a friendly "Welcome to the Fifth." He gestures to their surroundings. "You didn't hear the recent news about the two ryoka?"

Interesting. Renji stops being offended and leans forward. "No. What's that about?"

The shinigami looks around, and says in conspirational tones, "It's the newest reports. Apparently two ryoka appeared in Seireitei a couple days back. You know that weird reiatsu explosion around then?" Renji nods quickly. "That was their entry into this _time_."

Renji holds up both hands. "Whoa. This _time_?"

The shinigami nods. "That's the best part," he says, hushed, "Kurosaki Ichigo-taichou and Kuchiki Rukia-fukutaichou are from approximately _half a century into the future_. It was them who fought back the hollows this morning, apparently. At the academy."

Renji is dumbstruck, gaping. The shinigami mistakes his goldfish-in-bowl look for astounded appreciation of this new gossip, and goes with a swagger in his step, leaving Renji mindblown by himself, clutching his belongings and blinking.

He tries to process this new information.

_Ru-Rukia…?_ So that one earlier hadn't been _his_ Rukia. No no no wait a second – they _are_ the same person, right – just older. So his Rukia hadn't really forgiven him yet. Not really. But the Rukia just now had seemed happy enough in his company. And she had said it wasn't his fault…so she forgives him in the future, but not right now?

It is confusing enough to run Renji's brain into knots. Then, a sudden shock of realisation runs through him. _Kurosaki Ichigo._ _Just how long has Rukia known him for?_ Enough time to be close acquaintances, as shown by their behaviour, surely. How close?

An unfocused glance at the doors ahead shows that he has bypassed his room number by more than ten. Doubling back, he marches towards his quarters, his brow scrunched up in thought. Reaching his room, he yanks the sliding door open, dumps his bags distractedly on the bunk illuminated by streaming sunlight, and sits down with a glad _oomph_.

"You know how to shut a stupid door, newbie?" a voice aching with tiredness sounds out in dry tones from the bunk shaded in darkness on the other side of the room. The sunlight catches the edge of a gigantic blade that looks familiar somehow.

Renji springs upright with a gasp. He had forgotten the possible presence of a roommate. Better not to get off on the wrong foot with what is likely a more experienced shinigami.

"Shut. The. Door, genius."

Renji scrambles to his feet and is halfway to the door when his eyes adjust well enough to the darkness to make out the sprawled form of someone fully dressed, sandals and all. His roommate is garbed in a haori, is lying turned to face the wall, and sports a head of brilliant orange.

"_You?!_" Renji exclaims, spluttering.

His voice is obviously familiar to the man, for Kurosaki Ichigo half flips around to regard Renji with one slitted eye. "Oh, no," he moans, burrowing his face into the crook of his elbow again. "Please, not Pineapple-head. Heaven have mercy on my soul."

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"I had been expecting torture. I didn't expect it to be _you_. Please, leave me in peace. I need to _think_." Ichigo raises a slightly trembling hand to run fingers through his hair, revealing a thick metal band around his wrist. On further inspection, Ichigo's bunk is a scattered mess, pillow and sheets all rumpled as if he had torn them off the mattress to search for something and then hadn't quite summoned to energy to put them back in order again.

Renji narrows his eyes. "What's that thing? Why is your side of the room all messed up? Where's Rukia? Why are you here?"

Then a hand is gripping his collar, and another twisting his arm in an extremely unorthodox hakuda lock that he is sure was never taught in any academy class, even the advanced ones. He goes still.

"Look here, idiot. Rukia and I were blamed for the hollow invasion at the captain's meeting, the strongest possible reiatsu-suppressing _manacles_ locked on our wrists, and I was thrown into Aizen's custody while Rukia is locked inside her brother's home like a filthy criminal. I was ordered into this room, in which I searched for reiatsu-taps, and have stayed thinking my way about the situation until _you_ barged in announced. _That answer your questions?_" Renji is suddenly shoved back, and Ichigo folds himself backwards back onto his own bunk, shielding his eyes from the light. "Now shut up and let me think in peace."

Renji gulps air for a while, and gives Ichigo a closer look. The captain is unhealthily pale, and a sheen of sweat covers his brow. The blood vessels around the cuffs are purplish in colour, and bruising quick. The ribbon on the end of his zanpakutuo is limp. Renji peers at him, frowning.

Ichigo glares right back. "_What._"

"Are you, ah, okay?"

A look reserved for only the finest idiots in Seireitei.

Renji tries to hold back the urge to punch Ichigo in the face. "What I _meant_," he says emphatically, "is that you don't look too well. Is it the reiatsu-cuff thingies?"

Ichigo's glare weakens slightly. "They don't hurt. They're draining. That's all." He stares at the ceiling. "I can handle them. It's Rukia that I'm worried about."

The sky outside is awash with crimson and mauve now, casting a bloody tint on the floor through the open doorway. The barrack lights flutter alight, winter moths dancing about their bright luminance.

Renji tries not to imagine what the cuffs would do to Rukia, if the captain in front of him is so badly affected.

As the sky spins towards navy, then sable, Ichigo closes his eyes and thinks of Rukia. Zangetsu mutely tells him that he will keep watch. He is too tired to object. It takes him a long time to find sleep, and when he does, his dreams are fraught with darkness, and someone shouting his name.

* * *

**Poor darlings. They have to suffer a little, our dear Ichigo and Rukia. Separated, for a while. Oh well. And of course, Aizen is still evil :) I'll see you all next week. Eight days is my normal update time.**

**Please review! :)**

**Replies to guest reviews:**

**xvkljb: He **_**did**_** say that – only to be disproved by Byakuya. Poor him. Thanks for reviewing!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello people! Please don't kill me for the one-day-late update! I was really, really busy this week. As in unable to write at all busy. So I managed to get this done in a short time after all that. I hope you guys don't come after me ready with explosive kido. **

**Oh, and don't worry, guys, that Ichigo and Rukia are separated at the moment, or that pacing seems slower in this chapter. Soon things will get very sped up, I promise. I have the grand finale mostly planned out. And it will be angstily epic. **

**Thanks to reviewers: Faia Sakura, MugetsuIchigo, MerryKitten, Gentmaster3000, Phantom Claire, ilovebks, IronEclipse, DLC2904, BleachFreak16, CrystalShardsofRain, KJC2025, brialees, chasingdragondreams, UseYourImagination, Darkness9825, Guest, CodeGeasslulu, Mtmeye, La Wei, uzuki-chan, Taichichaser2000, ellecasszio, NarutoLuver896, Orange3WhiteSkew, Qwerty321, poooy200, Tsuki no Yukihime, Hinata001, 00closetFreak00, NobodyEpic, Hinata001, laughingspider, Chirpy Hitomi chan, silverscribbles, Miss Namikaze, mypupps1.**

**I don't own Bleach, I hope you guys like this chapter!**

* * *

The sky is dark that night. Contrary to popular belief, darkness is seldom absolute and uniform – night as opposed to _day_ is, of course, dark, but in detail there are a thousand different skies that drift over a silent Seireitei over the space of a decade. This particular eve is utterly and completely black, the celestial arc an impenetrable stretch of heavy sable, moonless, starless, an oil-thick suppressed weight in the air. The orbed circle of silver, so beautifully round and symmetrical but a cycle before, is hidden, shrouded by a darkness that envelops the world and creeps like a venomous insect into hearts.

It is that specific hour of the night when even the hardest-working shinigami have collapsed at desks or beds, and the earliest risers who train in the early morning are still sound asleep, covered by the mantle of dusky cloth that is the cloaked robe of the heavens. The last lights in the Gotei have long since spluttered out. All is still, bated, silent.

The shadows rest especially heavy within a particular room in the Fifth Division barracks. Two figures lie slumped on their respective beds, one with flaming red hair a spectacular mess over his pillow, limbs spread in a gangly sprawl half-off the cot. His head is tipped back, mouth hanging open, a line of drool issuing from one corner, and deep snorting snores drift towards the ceiling. Zabimaru is placed carelessly leaning against his feet.

The other, wrapped in haori and sandals still on, could not be more different. He sleeps like a soldier, so quiet and still that one would think the room held one shinigami and not two. Even in slumber, there is a hidden tenseness in his limbs, an unconscious readiness, and he frowns in his dreams. Zangetsu stands upright by his head, the white silk ribbon caressing his metal-cuffed wrists.

The seconds and minutes trickle past unheeded. The quiet continues. The dark continues.

A spark of light in sable, an eyeblink of what should not be.

The ribbon on Zangetsu's hilt shifts. _Wake up, Ichigo!_ But the zanpakutuo's voice is muffled, suppressed by the cuffs.

Ichigo turns over in his sleep, choking on nothing. His frown deepens, and a line of sweat runs down his hairline. The bright singularity hovers above his chest, a pulsing star wreathed in blue reiatsu, humming a dangerous frequency. It casts a shivering cerulean shadow on Ichigo's face, rivulets of watery luminescence playing across his skin. The wavering light trembles, then begins to grow, feeding greedily on his reiatsu. A hole begins to appear in the center of the brightness, a yawning entrance into a nothingness deeper than the darkness of the sky.

Zangetsu's ribbon snaps taut, tightening painfully on Ichigo's wrists. _WAKE, Ichigo!_ The warning reverberates in his consciousness.

Ichigo snaps awake with a strangled gasp, springing into a sitting position and nearly colliding with the half-open portal in front of him. "What on earth –" he manages, then a colossal flood of agony swamps him like a wave, as the portal sucks away at his already minimal reiatsu reserves as if it is some sort of parasitic leech. Momentarily unable to do anything other than clutch at his head, Ichigo rolls of his mattress with a groan, hitting the floor with a _thunk_.

Across the room, Renji jolts awake with a startled "Mmphwah?", hair in violent disarray and blindly reaching for his sword.

Groaning, Ichigo struggles to his knees, using Zangetsu as leverage. The portal is juddering now, lacking the reiatsu it needs to stay open. _No, no, no_, Ichigo thinks past a haze of pain, reaching for the whirling space. The portal throws dancing turquoise shadows onto the ceiling and walls, cavorting madly around the room.

"_What is that?_" Renji's outraged hiss sounds from beside him. The tip of Zabimaru wavers in his shaking hands.

Ichigo has no time to answer him, for at that moment an echoey voice emanates from the spinning depths of the portal.

"Hello there! Can you hear me, Kurosaki-taichou~? Ichiigoo-san?" Urahara's singsong tones.

Ichigo pours every last drop of reiatsu he possesses into the portal, gasping as he stumbles towards the tiny maelstrom. "URAHARA!" he shouts back, breaking off into a coughing fit at Zangetsu shakes under his palm.

But the scientist a half-century ahead in time makes no indication that he has heard Ichigo's plea. "Mayuri-san. Is there any way we can sharpen the transmission? No? Aiyah," Urahara clicks his tongue unhappily. His next words strike a chill into Ichigo's heart. "I'm very sorry, Kurosaki-taichou, it seems that the machine is misbehaving. We will have to try again after repairs."

"No – Urahara," Ichigo chokes, _Hang in there, Zangetsu, just a bit more…_

"Oh, we've got next to no power left. Sorry again, but at least the readings show that the portal is active and functional, if unstable. Please note that next time you need to supply a steady stream of reiatsu for the portal to bypass the initial fluctuation. We'll contact you shortly, Ichigo-san, so not to worry, not to worry."

The portal dwindles. Ichigo's hope dwindles with it. He is on the verge of passing out.

_Rukia._

He is _not_ going to let her stay in this hellhole.

In a burst of movement fueled only by adrenaline and immense determination, when his skull feels like it is going to split in two and the bile has risen up in his throat, Ichigo snatches up a piece of notepaper from the writing desk. His shaking hands pen scarcely legible words on the scrap, and the tosses the paper into the portal with the last of his strength.

_Reiatsu cuffs. He knows. Be ready._

Urahara's voice is nearly indecipherable now. "Turni – off – achine – stay – safe – goo – luck – what's – paper – through…"

With an understated _pop_, the portal disappears altogether.

Ichigo collapses prone on the wooden flooring, sucking great heaving gasps of air through the gap between his teeth, glorying in the leftover throbbing in his brain that is no longer howling agony. The room is dark again, and his vision blurs in and out of focus, and he just lies there, the cold, sweet night air drying the perspiration that drenches his face. _Urahara got the message._ A glow of victory in the haze that is the world.

For a moment, all is silent. It is a miracle that none of the neighbours had been woken.

Renji is still staring wide-eyed at the heap that is the captain of the Fourteenth Division, Zabimaru gripped so hard that his knuckles shine white in the shadows.

Ichigo could care less about him right now. He closes his eyes against the calm, concentrating on breathing in, and breathing out.

Renji breaks the quiet with a bout of incoherent noises.

Ichigo hides a pained grimace. So much for the peace.

"What in the name of…what _was_ that?" Renji says, trying to hide the shake in his voice.

There is no answer for a few moments, as Ichigo tries to prise himself off the floor. It shocks him for a moment when his elbows tremble and threaten to give away under his weight.

A hand enters his vision.

Ichigo looks up blearily to find Renji standing above him, hand outstretched and with a dubious expression. He takes the hand after only a moment's consideration, allowing himself to be tugged upright with a grunt. "That," Ichigo says tiredly, slumping back against the wall, "was a reiatsu portal. Me and Rukia's ticket home."

Renji hovers for a bit, then decides to sit down opposite, although he still clutches Zabimaru carefully. He considers this piece of information, and decides to accept it. "Umm, okay," he says cautiously. "Is that how you got here? Like, _here_, in this time?" He looks at Ichigo warily, as if still undecided whether he should go bolting to the nearest seated officer and give a report.

"Yeah."

"Is that how you're going to go back?"

Ichigo nods, more like an uncontrolled falling forwards of his head than a sharp affirmative.

Renji fiddles with Zabimaru's sheath. "Er…It closed though," he says hesitantly.

A dangerous glint appears in Ichigo's eyes, and Renji would have been severely intimidated if the man in front of him wasn't slumped like a rag puppet against the corner. _No duh, genius_, the looks says.

"Um," Renji says quickly, "is it going to open again?"

"Yes."

Renji gives Ichigo an appraising sort of look. Unsure as he is about the physics of the entire time-travel area of science, the "portal" had looked hazardous enough just now. If it were to open in the training grounds, for example, it could cause no small injury to shinigami standing in close range. Aizen-taichou's kind reminder the day before resurfaces suddenly in his mind.

_If you see anything that bothers you, please do not hesitate to contact me directly._

This entire portal thing definitely classifies at something that _bothers_ him. And Aizen-taichou had said it in such a trusting way, as if happy to give him the responsibility of making sure things in the division went all right…

Renji's eyes flick towards the direction of Aizen's office momentarily.

Ichigo notices, and his fingers clench.

"Are you going to report this?" Ichigo says quietly, bringing Renji's attention back to him. The tone of his voice surprises Renji – there is no belittling sarcasm, nor threatening undertone, only calm resignation and something resembling… _disappointment_?

Renji stops in sudden confusion. Why would this man be _disappointed_ in him? He doesn't even know him. It makes no sense.

"I'm sure Aizen told you that he's always open for you to come and voice your concerns," Ichigo continues conversationally, staring at the ceiling. "He's a _nice_ captain, after all. Totally selfless." _There_ is the sarcasm, twisting his lips into a bitter grimace.

Renji looks at him, really looks at him, and sees the dark shadows under his eyes, and the slight shaking of his hands, how the cuffs bite into his wrists, and the thin trickle of blood dripping onto the dusty wooden floor, down into the cracks between the panels. The thin, raised blood vessels that are massive bruises on his hands, signs of reiatsu overuse near the manacles.

With a start, Renji realises that this captain in front of him really is no more than a prisoner trying to escape his cell.

_And Rukia._

Rukia needs the portal open as well.

That cements the decision. Renji meets Ichigo's gaze levelly, and says clearly, "No. I'm not going to report this." _My decision_, he thinks silently, _not yours_.

Ichigo sees the abrupt hardness in Renji's eyes, and a corner of his mouth twitches upwards. He nods slowly, a hint of approval in his expression. They have come to a new understanding, Rukia being the center of it. So this Renji has some of Pineapple-head's backbone, after all. _Good._

But the solidarity does not last, for just as Ichigo is taking stock of Zangetsu's presence in his mind, and assessing his reiatsu levels – almost nil, after that ordeal – Renji's voice sounds out again, forcing him to open his shuttered eyes.

"So…um…do I know you in the…um, future?" The question is again hesitant.

"Aa." A monosyllabic answer.

_So that's why he seemed disappointed. _"Oh. Just asking, do I ever get anywhere as a shinigami? Especially against…" Renji pauses, fumbling with his words.

Ichigo sighs, opening one eye. "You're fukutaichou under Byakuya. He appreciates you, even though he doesn't show it that much. Happy?" Maybe if he gives him a good bit of information, he might stay quiet for a while.

Renji blinks twice, then practically _glows_, stretching back with his head propped up on his hands, showing a delighted grin. _Fukutaichou, eh? Not bad, not bad – Rukia's a fukutaichou too…_maybe he's not that far from Rukia as he had previously thought.

While these happy thoughts race through Renji's head, Ichigo winces as he examines his inner world. He had been unprepared for the portal opening. If he had released his reiatsu in one controlled burst, he might have had a chance of forcing open the cuffs – in sheer agony, of course – but it would have been possible. The slow leeching of his reiatsu just now had prevented him from reaching the peak he needed. No matter. He will _not _make the same mistake again.

"Er…Ichigo?"

_He doesn't shut up, ever, does he?_

"_What._"

"So. I know this isn't really the best time, but, ah…are you and Rukia, like, you know…?" The question is admirably vague.

_You've got to be kidding me._

Ichigo springs up so fast, Renji jerks backwards.

"Whoa," Renji says placatingly, "I was just asking."

Ichigo gives Renji a long, level look. He had always suspected that Renji cared a lot more about Rukia than he cared to admit, but then again, didn't they both? It hadn't interfered with their friendship; it had always been a mutual understanding that Rukia was to be protected at all costs. But now…if this, younger, Renji is already so…involved…what does Pineapple-head feel?

Renji shifts under Ichigo's gaze.

Finally, Ichigo looks away into a far corner, folding his arms, and says irritably, "It's none of your business." His foot twitches involuntarily, and he stills it forcibly.

_That_ gets under Renji's skin. Taichou or not, he is _not_ going to be dismissed like that by this man. "Oi," he growls, "Don't you give me that crap. I'm her best and only friend. Of course it's my business."

Ichigo glares at him. Renji glares right back, a vein throbbing at his temple. This continues, as if they are daring each other to blink first. Neither pauses to consider just how childish their squabbling is.

Then Ichigo realises that he is suppressing a grin. Their arguing is so familiar to him that for a moment he half-believes that the Renji here is the one he knows so well, and would trust with his life. A typical stare-down.

But this Renji doesn't scowl and fire back another insult, like Ichigo expects him to. Instead, the first expression of true anger rushes across his face, and he stands abruptly, reaching for Zabimaru and his shihakushuo.

"I'm going out," Renji snarls, and in an eyeblink, he is out the door, stomping to the communal changing rooms. The morning light drifts weakly into the room, bringing a cold current of air with it.

Ichigo is left alone, the grin slipping off his face. No, he is most definitely not the Renji he knows. The different reaction is like a punch to his chest.

He looks in the direction of the Kuchiki compound, where Rukia is. _We need to get home_, he thinks. If he concentrates, he can just pick out Rukia's reiatsu signature, like a match-light in the distance. The signature is small enough to be invisible to shinigami any less familiar with Rukia's reiatsu. _Byakuya must have reduced the setting on the cuffs._

Ichigo rests his head in his hands, trying to knead the growing migraine, a remnant echo of previous pain, from his temples. He forces himself to think, to reassess their position in the light of Urahara's imminent contact. What he needs is some way of contacting Rukia, to warn her to be ready without Aizen overhearing…

A tiny flicker of an idea.

_Could that work?_

Ichigo rechecks his reiatsu levels, and grimaces. Barely enough. But it could be possible.

Taking slow, deep breaths, Ichigo cups his hands together and breathes his reiatsu into them. Inside his mind, Zangetsu wearily shifts, and adds his strength to their bond.

In the pallid light of early dawn, a muted brightness shines from a dormitory window.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The halls of the Tenth Division are lit only sporadically by flickering lights as every shinigami from footsoldier to captain – especially captain – sleep soundly in the hours drifting between night and dawn.

All is quiet, well, mostly, anyway.

For great, heaving snores float through a number of halls in the innermost sanctum of the division's corridors, obscenely loud and very much in disregard for anyone's comfort, much less propriety. New recruits are fed the story that a hulking, snorting duck-like yokai haunts this section of the barracks, and most actually believe it until they discover that this "yokai" magically disappears whenever Isshin-taichou is on-mission.

Isshin sleeps deeply in his duck-patterned pajamas, sucking his thumb, his blankets all kicked about like a child's. He hugs a fluffy stuffed duckie to his chest – Mr. Waddle – which, along with its master, is the happy origin of the yokai rumour.

A sharp rap on the closed windowpane.

Isshin shifts, stuffed duck tumbling out of his arms to the floor.

A _series_ of sharp raps on the glass.

"Mmmpfh, it's not time to wake me up yet, Masumoto-chaaan!" Isshin whines plaintively, shoving a pillow over his ears. "Go handle your paperwork…mmph."

A hiss of frustration at the window. A rock flies through and smacks Isshin right in the middle of the forehead.

"Owww, Masumoto-chan…you're so cruel," Isshin complains, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, still half asleep. He takes one step, and promptly squishes the stuffed duck into the floorboards underneath his feet.

"NOOOO~! Mr. Waddle!" Isshin grabs the toy and smoothes its fur. "ARE YOU ALIVE? TALK TO ME!"

Mr. Waddle is silent, squished face slowly re-inflating.

Isshin strokes it, mumbling, "Yes, you're okay, Mr. Waddle…"

A voice sounds from the window, torn between laughter and sarcasm. "Do you know how disturbing that is, Uncle?"

Isshin narrows his eyes, peering at the window.

"Uncle, we need to talk."

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The heavens are an artist's palette that dances to the colours of deep winter. The sky spins slowly from sable to navy to deep, clear blue, great, heavy brushstrokes of a celestial painter as dawn creeps like a stranger into the great arc above. But even the day is as forbidding as the thick dark of the night, for that morning is an unforgiving slate grey, bare wisps of clouds but crystalized silver on a sky as cold, and the exact colour of, her brother's hard eyes.

So thinks Rukia as she lies curled on her bed, staring through the open window at the world outside, and herself detached in a half-suspended haze of exhaustion, not even feeling the frigid air streaming through the opening.

She has not spoken a word to anyone after her brother had left her choking for air, cuffed, on the gravel pathway near the entrance of the Kuchiki compound. The younger Rukia had helped her to her room and dithered for a while, asking the servants to bring some hot tea, and caring for her as if she were an older sister.

Rukia had stayed completely silent through all these ministrations, and at length, her younger self had left, despondent. The tea, not drunk, is now stone cold on the desk.

But the reiatsu cuffs on Rukia's wrists are colder. Rukia has never been afraid of the cold – her zanpakutuo is an ice-type, and somehow snow and ice have always felt familiar to her. But not so these cuffs, for they emanate an artificial, unsettling, _wrongness_ that freezes her skin and runs artic in her blood. The aching reverberation of pain is constant in the back of her mind, and Sode no Shirayuki, her constant friend, is muted and silent, locked away.

Rukia had been unable to sleep. So she had lain in the same position for hours, vacant violet eyes watching the paling of the sky, trying to keep her mind blank and away from the tiny raging part of her that is terrified for Ichigo, and the emptiness that is her brother.

_I'll be okay. Wait for me._ Ichigo's brown eyes, determined.

A rustle of wind bears a present through the open window. A plum blossom, silvery-pink, silky and delicate. It drifts into her motionless hands, resting quietly against metal and skin.

The touch is gentle, but it jerks Rukia from her half-stupor. She suddenly has an image of Hisana fading in her illness. _She must have looked upon the plum blossoms just like this._

A sudden wave of surprising disgust floods through Rukia. What _is_ she doing lying here like this? She's not dying of an incurable illness – what excuse does she have? The cuffs are debilitating, yes – well then, she will just have to _train_ herself to ignore them. She's done more difficult things before.

_When Ichigo comes – _when_ he comes – I will _not _be a useless lump of baggage._

Decision made, Rukia springs upwards, tucking her legs underneath her as she tries to get out of her blankets.

The pain hits her like a full-on reiatsu wave. Her muscles scream in protest at movement after hours locked in the same position; her heart struggles to pump enough lifeblood to her head after getting used to its slow rhythm; her sight tilts alarmingly as black spots swim across her vision.

_Breathe._ It probably wasn't such a good idea to get up so fast.

A minute later, Rukia is able to place her feet on the floor, albeit unsteadily. As she takes her first unsupported steps, she finds her legs alarmingly shaky. Her wrists throb. Gritting her teeth, she ignores this and slowly makes her way out to the courtyard, bringing Sode no Shirayuki with her. The sword is unresponsive, a cold length of metal that is foreign to her.

Stumbling to a halt next to the first tree, she holds onto its rough bark for support, leaning Sode no Shirayuki against the trunk. _First things first._ Shunpo.

Rukia lowers herself carefully into a basic training stance, one of the first pieces of footwork any shinigami student is taught in their first week at the academy. Like a novice, she aligns herself with a clear path in between the plum trees, slowing her breathing. _In, out. In, out._ If she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine the bark of their houhou instructor, and the ruffled breathing of a dozen other students lined up in a hall, ready to take their first shunpo.

_Right. Let's go._

Rukia snaps her eyes open and wrestles the fabric of the air to her will, shoving reishi against her back like she has done thousands of times before, gliding effortlessly forward –

Her knees hit the dirt with a muffled _thud_, her hands barely coming in front fast enough to catch herself before her face connects with the dust. Her wrists scream in the dual agony of taking all her weight on the hard landing and the spiking ache of the reiatsu cuffs.

Rukia takes a look behind her. A grand total of…ten feet. Approximately the result that any average first-year shinigami student would achieve in their second houhou lesson. Well, at least she hadn't slammed into a tree.

Rukia tries not to broadcast her self-hatred loud enough to wake the entire household.

Forcing her frustration into a controlled knot in her stomach, Rukia stands painfully. She can do this – no, she _must_ do this. If she remains at this level of control, she might as well acquiesce to Ichigo scooping her up and carrying her like an invalid. Shunpo had never been her strong suit – at least, not until extended training sessions with both her brother an Ichigo rectified that. Her previous level had almost reached a master's proficiency. It is humiliating that she now has to struggle to even reach the basics.

But pride has no place here. Rukia picks out another line through the trees, and readies herself. The scent of the plum blossoms wafts through the air, a calming current of peace that stills her anger. Breathe.

Brow knitted in intense concentration, Rukia attempts to take another flash-step. Her feet gouge a long scar in the morning-dewed grass, revealing the hard soil beneath. She manages to not fall on all fours this time, arms windmilling until a semblance of balance is restored.

_Better._

Fired with a new determination, the weariness seems to flow away from Rukia's aching limbs as she repositions herself. After she gets shunpo to a manageable level, getting Sode no Shirayuki to respond will be second on the list, she decides conclusively.

A few shuddering shunpos later, Rukia deems her skill to have reached what she internally calls _barely acceptable_. The small glimmer of victory is marred by the fact that her wrists are now burning with sharp discomfort, her legs shake underneath her weight, and a glimmer of sweat is on her brow. But the pain is strangely therapeutic. It is the proof that she is actively _doing_ something to improve her situation, and somehow makes her feel less useless when imagining what Ichigo might be going through right now…

Rukia slams the thought into nothingness, her throat constricting.

She grasps a low tree branch for support as once again she stands. Her body spasms in protest at the movement, but she wills herself to ignore it. One more. Rukia forces herself to relax. Breathe.

The moment she gathers the reishi behind her back, her knee crumples and she jolts dangerously to the left. Unable to stop her momentum, Rukia can only watch in a strange sort of detached fascination as she careens towards the rough bark of the nearest tree. The frost-ridden edges of the trunk would surely take skin off her hands. She wonders how blood would look like on the fallen plum blossoms, crimson against pink. The forewarning of pain only dimly registers in her tired mind.

A flash of black to Rukia's right, and she collides side-on with something warm and rough as she misses the trunk by mere centimetres.

As the whirl of the world slows to a stop around her, Rukia finds herself enclosed in a soft circle of arms that feels achingly familiar. And the reiatsu-signature… For a moment, disoriented, her heart leaps as a wild hope surfaces in her chest; and then the world sharpens, and air rushes into her lungs, and she knows it is not him.

Rukia looks up to the faintly accusing green eyes of Shiba Kaien.

"Kindly explain what you were _thinking_, Kuchiki?" Kaien growls, his eyes angry, although he carries her exceedingly gently to the edge of the porch. "Training for a clearly extended period of time with reiatsu cuffs on?" His tone is once again that of a commanding officer.

"Kaien-dono…" Rukia says, trying to quash a rising tide of disappointment so strong it hurts. Her head still spins from the exertion of shunpo, and in the haze her mind wanders. Why had she ever thought that Kaien and Ichigo looked so similar? Looking at Kaien-dono now, she can see where Ichigo's jawline would be different, and how the edges of the eyes that should be brown not sea-green would be softer…

Someone is shaking her. "Oi. Kuchiki, you still here? Breathe. Look at me."

Rukia blinks. "Oh, yes, Kaien-dono. Sorry." She rests her back against a pillar gratefully, shifting away from his touch.

Kaien is unconvinced. "I expected better of you – training with limited reiatsu reserves! I had thought you would've known better with your experience." He retrieves Sode no Shirayuki, slipping the hilt into Rukia's small hand.

"I'm sorry." Rukia says quietly.

Kaien barely hears as he bustles into her room and finds a light blanket, throwing it over her shoulders, before sitting down opposite her. Her fingers curl into the cloth. Rukia is conflicted about his sudden appearance. On one hand, it gives her some comfort to not be alone, but on the other, with him here, she cannot take her mind off Ichigo.

Giving her an evaluating look, Kaien carefully asks, "Are you alright?"

"I – Yes," she answers simply, tonelessly.

A shadow passes over Kaien's face. "I wasn't referring to just now, Kuchiki," he says firmly, "I'm talking about this." He leans forward and taps the steel cuffs twice. "I heard from my uncle that they slapped these on you at full power."

"Nii-sama changed the settings." Rukia looks away.

"You aren't answering my question." Kaien is insistent.

Rukia swallows. "They're…" she searches for words, "bearable."

Kaien examines her bruising wrists with an expression bordering on disgust. "It's barbaric. They were designed for Level A criminals. You shouldn't be walking, let alone training in them."

Rukia props herself up so her back is straight, lifting her chin and trying to ignore the trembling in her hands. "I'm going to try nonetheless," she says in a tone of steel. "I will not be reduced to a student fresh out of the academy because I can't handle them."

Kaien gives her a level look. "I understand," he says gently. His words hold no anger. He comprehends her overwhelming need to _do_ something useful, instead of sitting and waiting for a rescue that may not come. He also realises that she hasn't been looking at him directly, as if his face gives her some deep inner pain. That, too, he understands. _Kurosaki Ichigo._

Standing suddenly, he casts his eyes and reiatsu around in a quick scan for the presence of any servants or shinigami. It is still relatively early, and the house is quiet. Rukia gives him a questioning glance.

Crouching, Kaien whispers, "Kurosaki-taichou contacted my uncle and me." Rukia's breath hitches, and her fingers clench white on her blanket. She leans forward imperceptibly.

Kaien reaches into his shihakushuo, and withdraws a hell butterfly. But not just any hell butterfly, for this one is elaborately beautiful, trails of luminescent scarlet streaming across its delicate paper-thin wings, the crimson veins twisting to form a very recognizable crest hidden in the whorls of the primary flaps. The butterfly shines with Ichigo's reiatsu. And as the light shifts across the back of the insect, it almost seems to fade in and out of the background, as if the sunlight is a cloak that prevents Rukia from concentrating on it.

The colour of the butterfly seems horribly suggestive of…"Is – is that –"

"Yes. It's a blood-signature butterfly enhanced with a cloaking kido." Kaien snorts. "Terribly difficult to create – I don't know how he even managed it in his condition."

Rukia looks up sharply, face white.

"No no no," Kaien covers his slip quickly, "He's not injured or anything, I meant considering he has the cuffs on, and at full power at that."

Some blood returns to Rukia's cheeks, although her lips are still unhealthily pale. She nods, shakily.

"Anyway," Kaien hurries on, "it can only be activated by someone who is a close blood relation. I had to bring it to Uncle Isshin – my blood didn't quite work." Kaien glosses over the fact that this all but confirms Ichigo's relationship to Isshin. "Anyway," he says in a quiet undertone, sending another look over his shoulder to check for eavesdroppers, "he sent us a message."

Rukia's knuckles are the colour of freshly fallen snow. She nods quickly, unable to find words.

"Apparently the portal opened – briefly – in the early hours of the morning."

Rukia stifles a sound behind her hands.

Kaien continues, "He wasn't ready for it, and in his reiatsu-deprived situation was unable to keep it open long enough for anything other than a quick note he dropped through warning – Urahara-san, is it? – of your current situation." Kaien pauses. "Ichigo-taichou believes it will open again very soon, and he tells you to _be ready_. The main problem that faces us is keeping Aizen-taichou and Kuchiki-taichou occupied long enough that he can, uh, _force_ –" and here Kaien winces, "the portal open. Uncle Isshin can probably hold off Kuchiki-taichou, and Ichigo-taichou says that he has 'other plans' for Aizen-taichou."

Rukia, listening intently, frowns. _Other plans?_ Relieved as she is to hear that Ichigo is alright, this new information is not completely reassuring. "Wait a moment," she says, cutting Kaien off. "So his grand plan predominantly consists of waiting until he senses that the portal is about to open, and then breaking out of the Fifth Division, somehow picking me up on the way, forcing open the portal with reiatsu cuffs still on, and hoping that two captain-level shinigami don't get involved?"

Kaien grimaces, then nods ruefully. "Seems like that, yes."

Rukia throws her head back in a short bark-like laugh that echoes harshly in the still morning air. "Baka, baka, tawake," she whispers under her breath. But she is faintly smiling.

"I take it this is usual for him," Kaien says.

"Yes, it is," Rukia says, a hint of fondness in her tone.

"One more thing," Kaien says. "He basically ordered – threatened me – in fact, to watch over you until the time comes. And he told us to tell you that he's okay, not to worry about him, and that he'll come for you." Kaien looks faintly embarrassed at the last bit.

Rukia is silent as she holds the butterfly in her cupped hands, stroking the silky wings with the tip of one finger. No wonder that when Kaien had first caught her, she had mistaken his reiatsu signature for Ichigo's. The butterfly is like a warm, glowing lamp to her, a comforting beacon in a sea of darkness. Ichigo's reiatsu. The butterfly rests in her hands, and it's almost as if he is cradling her tiny hands in his broad ones. Suddenly the air doesn't seem so cold anymore.

"Thank you," she whispers. Kaien nods solemnly. She folds the butterfly gently into her shihakushuo, where it rests, a flare of comforting light beating in tandem with her heart.

_I'll be ready, Ichigo._

* * *

**Whew. I hope that you guys don't mind the separated!IchiRuki fluff for the moment. Don't worry, there will be some proper fluff later. And I do apologise for the lack of Aizen in this chapter. I wanted to put him in but then the chapter got too long…so next chapter. :) Ichigo's run-for-it-and-hope-it'll-work plan isn't really the best idea, and there's going to be some trouble there. See you guys soon!**

**Please review! It makes me happeh :)**

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**Guest: Thanks for the review! I hope you liked this one! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi people! Guess what – you get a LONG chapter! As in over 7000 words! Because I love you all, and you guys are brilliant. **

**Thanks to reviewers: Chirpy Hitomi chan, vine, KJC2025, Tsuki no Yukihime, MerryKitten, Phantom Claire, BleachFreak16, Titiaredhead, DLC2904, poooy200, Guest, uzuki-chan, brialees, Miss Namikaze, laughingspider, anon, Darkest Kurogetsu, Debido, ilovebks, Kireina-Ame, Dashita Tichou, 00cLosetFreak00, Mtmeye, blades of blood488, Irishmate, Mugetsu Ichigo.**

**I don't own Bleach, only the plot, etc. Hope you guys like it!**

* * *

Unknown to many, the first part of any, or indeed,_ all_, of the shinigami barracks to wake from still slumber and pitch into chaotic commotion are the assorted _kitchens_ of the Gotei 13. For before the first shinigami – officer or footsoldier – tumbles grumbling out of bunks into shihakushuo, their breakfast is already underway, the galleys have already awoken, hard taskmasters waving ladles and soup spoons as efficiently as any zanpakutuo, a hundred cooks and apprentices rushing and stumbling and lurching and crying out in the frenzy that is method in madness. The craziness varies; the kitchens of the Eleventh Division are positively anarchic, reflecting only the riotous lawlessness of their food halls; the galley of the Sixth is ordered and structured, for their captain cannot abide messy disorder, and so neither should they.

The Fifth Division is somewhere in the middle. The chief taskmaster of the Fifth's kitchens is not a shouting chef, but a well-rounded, red-faced matron capable of thundering command towards her minions and doting blindness towards her shinigami _darlings_ stealing a snack between meals, the two oxymoronic states of being somehow coexisting almost at the same time.

When Abarai Renji had stormed into the empty mess hall that morning, mumbling murderous little phrases like _self-worshipping git_ and _what is he to Rukia_ under his breath, the matron had taken one glance and summarily slammed a laden tray in front of the new boy's startled face.

"Here, dear," she said, not unkindly. "Bad squabble with roomie on the first night?"

Renji looked vaguely flabbergasted and more than a bit intimidated. He nodded, slowly.

The matron also nodded, but in approval of her own discernment. Yes. The baby needed feeding from that crap they serve at the academy. "Eat," she said, in her most authoritative tone.

Renji snapped to attention. "Yes m'm," he choked, wide-eyed.

"Don't hold grudges. They aren't going to help you in the end." And with that gem of motherly advice, the matron went back into her domain to order her minions to work faster.

Renji had considered her words for the briefest moment, then remembered Kurosaki's face when he had told him that Rukia was none of his business. That had been enough to set his face into a low growl for the rest of the thirty minutes it took for the rest of the division to slowly wake and troop to the mess hall, filing into the seats around him. _That arrogant, self-important excuse for a captain…_

And so, Renji had remained quietly stewing, Zabimaru lying by his right hand and flat on the table, all the way until his friends had joined him at their own breakfasts, and quite a while after that. Unable to resist the urge to complain about his new roommate to _someone_, having already promised to keep the information from Aizen-taichou, he had blabbed the entire story in hushed tones to Kira and Hinamori.

His friends are suitably horrified, leaving Renji somewhat more satisfied and a tiny – _tiny!_ – bit less angry.

"Oh my goodness, what are we going to _do_?" Hinamori squeaks, eyes gigantic. "This is dangerous, we've got to tell someone! We've got to report this now!"

_Whoa._ That's a bit of an unexpected reaction – Renji had thought they were outraged _for_ him, not afraid of a security breach. He frowns. "We're not telling anyone, Hinamori," Renji says shortly. "The sooner this guy goes back to his time, the better."

Kira's calm tones interject at this point. "Abarai, I've got to agree with Hinamori-chan on this. This guy is an unidentified quantity. We've got a duty to report if there's a danger to our division. I suggest we go to Aizen-taichou first thing after we eat."

Hinamori nods repeatedly, head bobbing.

This is spiraling out of Renji's control, now. "Whoa, wait a sec, guys," Renji says, holding his hands up. "As much as I hate this guy, he's sort of a prisoner here, and he _did_ say that he was going to become a scientific experiment if anything else was revealed about him – so can't we just let this go?" A twinge of guilt blossoms in Renji's chest. He _had _sort of given his word to keep the events of last night to himself.

His friends frown at him.

Renji sighs. "Look, this guy, annoying as he is, just wants to go home. If anything else freaky happens, we'll report it immediately, alright?" _Next time the portal opens, he'll probably make it back to his time anyway._

Kira looks unconvinced, but nods without a further word. Hinamori still looks unsettled, giving Renji little glances. She opens her mouth, about to reply, but a single look from Renji shuts her up. She bites her lip, returning to her food unhappily.

The assorted shinigami around them chatter on unreservedly, yesterday's gossip about the supposed time-travelling taichou and fukutaichou still rampant. Only their table is uncomfortably quiet.

Then, ten minutes before the end of breakfast hour and the start of shinigami duties, when even the matron of the kitchens is allowing her minions to slow down a bit, a figure dressed in haori and shihakushuo, orange hair untamed, and armed with a fabulous scowl strides into the mess hall.

The arrival of Kurosaki Ichigo takes about five seconds to register in everyone's minds. The minor delay is due to the fact that he is determinedly _not_ looking at anyone else, and his reiatsu is clamped down to a bare minimum. But after his silky white haori catches the first glance, the mess hall explodes into a wildfire of whispering.

Ichigo grits his teeth, and accepts the tray of leftovers handed to him by the matron wordlessly. Only hunger had pushed him to enter the hall in search of food. He would have barricaded himself in his room until he felt the first pulse of Urahara's portal, if not for the knowledge that if he starves himself, there is next to no chance of his reiatsu replenishing itself.

Whispers drift from around the hall into his unwilling ears. _Is that him? Is that his zanpakutuo? It's flipping gigantic! How is he even allowed here?_

Ichigo puts down his tray excessively hard, and the cuffs on his wrist contact the table with a sharp _crack_. Zangetsu is placed leaning against the table, and the sword's weight _thuds_ as the metal hits the ground.

Silence falls like a heavy blanket. Ichigo draws out his chair – it scrapes on the floor – and sits down with a tired grace, pointedly ignoring Renji and his friends at the other end of the table.

_Eat, then leave_, Ichigo thinks, clamping down on his annoyance.

The whispers start again, accompanied with a _lot_ of staring.

Ichigo tries to deter himself from reviewing his policy of not going berserk and slaughtering entire divisions of the Gotei. He attempts to distract himself with the food, which is surprisingly quite edible.

Hinamori edges away slightly towards Kira and away from the orange-haired captain. Ichigo pretends not to notice, and hides the spike of hurt that surfaces – Hinamori-chan and he are good friends in the future.

Chew, swallow. A few more repetitions of that, and he can leave this place. The culmination of the stares, the hissing whispers, the expressions of fear makes Ichigo feel like a caged animal. Dangerous, chained, and the object of much fascination. _Wonderful._

The tall doors to the mess hall swing open. The sound of two pairs of feet sedately approaching. The next bite of food sticks in Ichigo's throat, but he forces it down and does not deign to turn his head. But his fingers twitch towards Zangetu's hilt.

_Here comes the circus-master and his whip._

A voice, warm as spun silk. "Ah, Ichigo-taichou, I trust you slept well?"

Ichigo seemingly ignores him, taking a long, deep drink of water. The pause stretches until the bounds of politeness, too, are stretched to the edge of offense. Several shinigami scattered across the room, including Hinamori, shift indignantly on Aizen's behalf. Then Ichigo delicately sets his cup back on the tray, and raises his eyes to meet Aizen's crinkled gaze.

"Fine," Ichigo answers shortly.

Aizen's smile widens. "I'm glad to hear that." He turns to the trio of newly-inducted shinigami, eliciting a small _eep_ from Hinamori. "And our new friends? Are you well?" His benign scrutiny lands on the suddenly tense Renji.

As Renji stutters a reply, Ichigo turns his gaze to the tall, thin figure standing respectfully two steps behind Aizen. A snakelike grin, slitted eyes, hair the colour of spun mercury, mind as sharp as poisoned fangs.

Ichimaru Gin, the fukutaichou of the Fifth Division, Aizen's second-in-command.

Rukia had told Ichigo once that the mere sight of him sent chills up her spine and made her feel nauseous with fear. There is something profoundly _wrong_ with the man, from outside appearances – for his eyes seem to bore into your soul, regardless of the fact that they are invisible behind his curved eyelashes, and his smile is the grim warning of impending death, for it never wavers even as his blade drives hilt-deep into your chest.

To most, he resembles a serpent in more ways than one.

But Ichigo regards him levelly. Gin's true nature is like his name. Gin. _Silver._ Tarnished silver. At the core, a heart shrouded in not black, but the _grey_ areas of morality.

A possible ally, if carefully handled. Like one handles a poisonous snake.

Gin tilts his head imperceptibly under Ichigo's gaze.

Aizen turns back towards them. "Ah! My apologies, you have not been introduced. Ichigo-taichou, may I present my fukutaichou, Ichimaru Gin. I am often rather busy, unfortunately, with my work, and so you will be seeing quite a lot of him. I trust you will find his companionship agreeable."

Gin bows once, formally, from the waist in a proper show of respect towards one of higher rank. His smirking visage does not change. "It is my honour, Kurosaki-taichou. So pleased to meet you," he murmurs smoothly.

Ichigo answers with a slow dip of his head.

The light reflects off Aizen's glasses, rendering them opaque for the briefest moment. "Ichigo-taichou, I have a small favour to ask."

Ichigo tenses, although his face remains impassive.

"Would you care to join the mid-afternoon training session for new members of the Fifth Division? Your expertise would be much appreciated, and I am sure it will be an enjoyable expenditure of your time."

Renji and the others jolt in surprise. Ichigo lays down his chopsticks in what looks like contemplation.

"Aizen…-taichou." The honorific is tagged on as an afterthought. "I fail to see how I can be of help when I am…bound…like this." Ichigo waves a hand at his reiatsu cuffs.

Aizen's smile only widens. "I do believe you underrate yourself, Ichigo-taichou. I am sure you can be of exceptional benefit to our new shinigami in ways that do not require the expense of much reiatsu. I promise I will not run you ragged." His tone turns patronizing as he leans forward and taps Ichigo's reiatsu cuffs lightly, at the cracks that the tightly locked hinges are.

Ichigo has to bite his tongue to avoid flinching and stabbing Zangetsu into the man's face. But he controls himself, because there is no room here for error, if Rukia and he are to get through this alive.

Aizen is still waiting for an answer, smiling mildly.

"Fine," Ichigo says coldly. It is only the third time he has spoken since their entry, and it is the exact same response as the first. He pointedly avoids looking at Gin. The silver-haired fukutaichou is the only reason he is complying. It is imperative that they talk, and soon – Gin may as well be the lynchpin to his plan.

If Aizen is surprised at his quick agreement, he does not show it. "Thank you, Ichigo-taichou," he says, looking pleased.

A moment of silence.

Then the sound of the morning bell splits the air, a shrill ringing that signals the beginning of official shinigami responsibilities, and the fact that approximately eighty percent of the people seated in the hall are supposed to be hearing the clanging while _at_ duty. Of course, they are most decidedly _not_, at the moment, having been absorbed in the little conversation between two taichou and one fukutaichou.

The whole of the Fifth Division is late for duty.

The bell ends, as abruptly as it starts. Aizen turns, and smiles at the whole cafeteria, clapping his hands together. "My apologies. I do seem to have distracted you all from the time. Forgive me."

The tension snaps like a razor-thin cord, and suddenly the mess hall is a chaos of sound and movement as bread rolls are stuffed last-minute into shihakusho pockets, muffled sounds of panic at their tardiness rising to the rafters. Renji and his friends also rise, bowing their leave. Renji strides away with a glance at Ichigo, and Kira follows him, but Hinamori dithers, wringing her hands and looking nervously back at Aizen.

"Renji-kun, Izuru-kun, Momo-kun," Aizen's voice rings out after them, "remember, if you have any concerns, feel free to come to me. I'll be in my office all morning."

Renji and Kira bow quickly, then are gone around the corner. Hinamori lingers momentarily – then seems to relax, bowing so deeply her hair almost touches the floor. She leaves the cafeteria – in the opposite direction that her friends had gone.

"Good day, Ichigo-taichou," Aizen says genially, patting Ichigo's shoulder as he leaves. Ichigo manages not to regurgitate his breakfast. Aizen turns the corner.

Gin glides after his taichou, but gives Ichigo a longer look than is necessary on the way out.

The matron sends her minions to collect the dishes.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The halls of the Tenth Division are appropriately bright, the midmorning sun making the pinewood flooring glow almost golden-yellow. Kaien strides through the hectic corridors, gracefully weaving his way around the assorted shinigami running to and from their duties. It is almost a tradition for the Tenth that, unlike the majority of the other divisions, everything is done last-minute. So it is unlikely to see anyone in the halls who is _not_ running full-pelt as if an arrancar itself is chasing their tail. Fortunately, for Kaien, his fukutaichou's badge marks him out as a person of importance, and so these charging black-and-white (cough) _slaves_ of his sadistic uncle know to slow their steps long enough to avoid crashing into him, and also to nod passably respectfully.

Still, it takes a shunpo or two to the side sometimes to dodge the ones going too fast to stop.

Sighing, Kaien makes his way towards his uncle's office. It would be good to keep Rukia informed about any plans that Isshin might have in keeping Byakuya busy and away from his own house. Rubbing the back of his head absently, Kaien turns the second-to-last corner from the office –

– and nearly runs headlong into Kuchiki Byakuya.

Kaien tips backwards and to the side. "Ah! I'm sorry, Kuchiki-taichou. Please forgive me," he says quickly, with a deep bow.

Byakuya is oppressively silent, forgoing even the characteristic "Hn" that one might expect in a situation like this. Kaien straightens, and finds Byakuya practically white-lipped with suppressed fury, radiating irritation so intense that he nearly steps back. Kaien is intelligent enough to see that nearly colliding with him is most definitely not the sole reason for the captain's ire.

_He looks ready to murder someone_, Kaien thinks. "If you would excuse me, Kuchiki-taichou," he murmurs, and slips around the captain, whose reiatsu warps with infuriated annoyance.

Thirty feet later, Kaien edges into Isshin's office without so much as a knock. "What on earth did you _do_, Uncle?" he asks mildly to what seems like an empty room.

Isshin's head pops up from behind the desk, a beatific smile on his face. "Yo, my most honourable nephew!" He waves, then disappears behind the desk again.

Kaien rolls his eyes and crosses the room, looking down at his uncle, who is sprawled on his stomach on the floor behind his desk, sorting through a pile of assorted paperwork and letters, kicking his feet jovially in the air. "Uncle. Kuchiki-taichou looked angry enough to kill someone. I would at least like to know the reason for your sudden and tragic death if I am so informed of it tomorrow morning."

Isshin looks up with a pout. "Nehhh. You would curse your poor innocent uncle. It's disrespectful, nephewww…"

Kaien pointedly ignores him. "Rukia is coping better than I expected."

Isshin's expression turns serious for a moment. "Good," he says. Then his goofy grin comes back as he shuffles the papers on the floorboards. As he does so, Kaien catches a line of words on one of the letters. _The Shiba clan graciously invites your eminence to attend – _

Kaien catches the edge of the paper with one toe, and drags it out of the pile, snatching it up before Isshin makes a half-hearted grab at it. "What's this?" he asks.

Isshin rolls over, stretching. "My awesomeness," he says unhelpfully, grinning even wider.

Kaien scans the letter, written on beautifully pressed official paper, with slowly widening eyes. His fingers scrunch the corner of the paper. "_Uncle!_" he hisses sharply. "Is this – Is this –"

"Yes it is, my dear boy," Isshin giggles.

"YOU SENT AND OFFICIAL INVITE FROM THE SHIBA CLAN TO THE KUCHIKI CLAN IN AN OFFER FOR BYAKUYA TO COURT MY _SISTER?!_"

Isshin blinks in a picture of innocence. "Why, nephew-mine, I don't understand your confusion. You're married. This sort of invite gets sent all the time. You know that as heir to the Shiba clan, I can send these things. Why the high drama?"

Kaien is actually speechless. When he had left Isshin to figure out something to keep Byakuya busy, he hadn't expected _this_. "I – I –"

"Yep, and a plus is that Byakuya will have to spend _allll_ afternoon and possibly part of tomorrow getting to know Kukaku-chan, just out of _politeness_! He can't possibly decline. That's a good window for Ichi-chan and Rukia-chan to make their escape. I'm a genius, hehehehe."

Kaien has the sudden vision of his baby sister, Kukaku, in a formal kimono with a ferocious scowl on her face, refusing to put on formal slippers and going for patent-leather boots instead. He has a bizarre inclination to laugh hysterically. "…has my pity," he chokes.

"Who?"

"Kuchiki-taichou."

Isshin laughs loudly, nodding his assent. "Ah, dear Kukaku-chan will probably slaughter him. Poor man."

Something occurs to Kaien with a jolt. "Er, Uncle," he says.

"Yes, nephew?"

"You did _tell_ her, right?"

Isshin looks up with baby-round eyes. "Why would I need to?" he says.

_Oh no._

As if in answer to that ominous thought, a figure smashes through the office window with a gigantic _CRASH_ and barely seems to touch the floor before gripping Isshin's collar in a death hold and smashing the wide-eyed uncle into the wall.

Everything stops for a moment, the instant immortalized, Kaien standing with his hands in the _Don't Shoot Me! _position, and Isshin looking down his nose into the spectacle that is Shiba Kukaku, glaring daggers and breathing heavily from high-speed shunpo.

"Hi!" Isshin squeaks, eyes crossed down the blade that Kukaku is holding.

Kukaku takes a deep breath. "EXPLAIN, UNCLE," she snarls.

Isshin grins. "I, ah, yes – as your dear and loving uncle, I thought that maybe it's time for you to settle down, my darling – _kyaaaahh!_"

The dagger is touching his nose now. Kaien winces, and edges away.

"Try again," Kukaku says, no less vehemently.

Kaien decides to intervene before familial homicide occurs.

"Um, sis?" he tries.

Death glare. He tries not to shiver.

"It's really important that you play along with this _just for two days_ because our cousin from the future is in really big trouble and Byakuya needs to be away from his house for the next couple of days so that our cousin can go back home and I know it's really a big thing to ask of you but this is family and the Shiba family always takes care of its own and so please don't kill him."

Kukaku takes that in with narrowed eyes. "So this isn't about the elders pushing me to 'settle down' or some crap like that?"

"No, sis."

"And is the part about our cousin true?"

"Yes, sis."

"Okay." She lets Isshin down. "But I am NOT finished with you."

Kaien and Isshin sigh in relief. Near-death experiences are good for appreciating life.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

Precisely one and a half hours past meridian, the first of the new members of the Fifth wanders into the empty expanse of the training grounds, looking side to side surreptitiously as if unsure of whether he is supposed to be treading on this holy ground or not. The winter cold does not soften the glare of the midday sun, concentric rings of glowing light shining in a kaleidoscope of colours and hues, beating down on the small dawdling figures trailing aimlessly over the field and reducing their shadows to small pools by their feet. Fifteen minutes before the official start of the training session, five of the six newbies have already appeared, all looking somewhat unused to the black uniform, zanpakutuos fingered nervously.

Not a single instructor or ranked officer is in sight.

Renji and Kira mill around the sun-scorched field, avoiding the eyes of the other three initiates. Their sudden entry into the division through the process of "cherry-picking" as many call it has engendered much debate, most polarized – either they're bootlickers, or mind-bendingly talented for their age. Neither stereotype particularly tends itself to camaraderie, and so the two are quite used to slightly uncertain staring from other members of the Fifth.

"Hey, Kira –" Renji says quietly.

"What's the matter?"

"Where's Hinamori? I didn't even see her at lunch." Renji looks around, as if the topic of their conversation is extremely private.

Kira frowns, flipping his blonde hair out of his eyes. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen her at all after breakfast," he says equally quietly.

Their private conversation is broken by an uncertain call from one of the other new shinigami, a tall man slightly older then them and sporting a badly grown goatee. "Hey, um, don't you think we should, er, start doing some warm-up exercises or something?"

All four of the others are suitably relieved at the plainly _studious_ suggestion, and fall as one into warm-up exercises – which, coincidentally but very predictably look exactly the same. The standard practice regimen of senior students in the Shinigami Academy. Economical, rigid, and tailored to concentrate students on the art of shinigami skills.

Twenty paces away, ensconced in the flowing, dappled shadows of the silver-green leaves on an evergreen tree, a figure lies comfortably hidden in the cool darkness, feet crossed nonchalantly on length of a rough branch. The figure shifts in suppressed laughter, and only this small movement and the scattered sundrops of crystalline light reflected off a haori reveal his presence.

_They look like mindless robots_, Ichigo thinks, chuckling to himself and shaking his head. He closes his eyes again. _Let them embarrass themselves._ Only an idiot decides to tire himself out _before_ a group training session for _shinigami_. The five newbies seem to think they're still in the academy, and that they will be doing exercises for _students_.

At this rate, they might as well be half-dead in the dust two hours later.

_Idiots._

A tapping of approaching feet. Ichigo cracks open an eyelid. Ah. Hinamori Momo, slightly breathless from running, skids to a stop next to the other initiates.

"Sorry," she says in a tiny voice, dipping her chin quickly. Renji and Kira both give her questioning looks, but she ducks her head.

Then the brash tones of a shinigami used to command rings out over the courtyard, sending all six rookies into custom-made ramrod-straight attention.

"What in the name of Soul King himself are you lot doing?" The voice belongs to a stout man with an elegantly trimmed crew cut in full shihakushuo.

Ichigo stifles a smile, still half napping behind his eyelids.

The rookie with the goatee snaps a bow. "Sir! We were warming up, sir!"

The man, obviously a seated officer, looks at him with a sort of pitying exasperation. A pause. "You're all idiots," the man says. He says it without derision, as if it is plain fact.

Renji and the others wince as one.

_Agreed_, Ichigo thinks, concealed behind the cover of leaves.

"I'm your supervising trainer today. You may call me Hagane-san," the man continues. "I'm here to get rid of your academy-trained rote-learning absurdities you call _skills_. Ah, welcome, Ichimaru-fukutaichou." The last sentence is addressed to the eternally smiling Gin, who materializes seemingly out of nowhere to touch lightly upon the ground next to the instructor.

Gin's hair is blindingly bright under the sunlight, a halo of shimmering silver so intense, it seems like a shock of white lightning. But even from his distance, Ichigo can see the curved eyelids, and the slight turn of Gin's head that signifies his full awareness of the hidden captain's presence.

Then Gin turns towards the students, and the serpentine grin stretches. "Ah, hardworking children. You must be wondering where Ichigo-taichou is. He was invited to be present, but considering he does not wish to grace us with his presence, I suggest we continue as is." His mocking tones carry easily to Ichigo's ears, and although his eyes are still slitted, Ichigo is sure that the comment was meant for him.

The six students look, if possible, even more intimidated at the fukutaichou's smooth tones.

Hagane-san gives Gin a sidelong look, then claps his hands, a thunderclap crack, and says authoritatively, "Right. Let's begin. I want you all to come forward individually and give me a show of your best in a timeframe of two minutes."

The newbies look suitably horrified. They had been expecting kata, sparring, zanjutsu, group work, not a show-me-what-you've-got exhibit.

Hagane-san dismisses this with a wave. "Yamanaki-san." A light-haired man jerks reflexively. "You first."

Ichigo settles back to watch, folding his hands behind his head and reflexively bringing his reiatsu down to a barely detectable level. With the reiatsu cuffs, he suspects even Hagane does not know that he is there.

Yama-whatever is horrifically bad. Really. A haphazard mix of academy katas and basic shunpo, tossed into a melting pot and merged into something resembling a whole with agonizingly incompetent footwork. If the basic chunks of the academy katas are like key ingredients of any meal, the resulting two-minute fiasco is like melted cardboard strips with added cat sick for colour on top. And about as useful in a fight.

Hagane-san looks suitably grim. Ichigo rolls his eyes. Gin is unchanged, smile as mocking as ever.

"Next," Hagane says. "Abarai Renji."

Ichigo leans forward slightly. _Pineapple-head._ Renji in the future is a formidable opponent, if a bit headstrong at times. But this, younger, version…

Renji strides out, steps relaxed, although his taut shoulders and clenched fists belie his nervousness. He executes two sharp bows, once to Gin and the other to Hagane-san. Taking a deep breath – Ichigo can see his shoulders rise and fall even from his distance – he springs into a passable display of shunpo and zanjutsu.

As dust flies in sparkling arcs that catch the light in gilded beams that spring from Renji's blurring feet, Ichigo raises an eyebrow in appraisal. _Not bad_ – for a student, anyway. At least the pure zanjutsu moves, shunpo and hakuda techniques are combined to an intensity reasonably close to _cohesion_ and two steps behind _flowing_.

Renji actually gets an approving nod from Hagane-san when he spins his sword low to the ground and, instead of rolling to the side like any student would in a sparring match, flips into a passable aerial back kick. Ichigo is actually half-impressed.

Then, true to traditional Abarai form, everything dissolves into – well, cat sick.

Renji, having assumed that he had been doing quite well, had translated this into a surge of overconfidence, and activated shikai. Not a bad idea, if he can pull it off.

He can't.

Immediately upon shikai release, the added length to Zabimaru's blade slows Renji's footwork considerably, and his zanjutsu collapses into what Ichigo can only call swing-my-arm-in-gigantic-circles mode. And his hakuda is pitifully inadequate to fend against openings in his guard.

A thunderous frown now occupies Hagane-san's brow. Ichigo winces repeatedly in a shadow of pain as his experienced eyes picks out chasm after chasm in Renji's defence, and sees, as if projected onto a misty film, all the possible injuries that he _must_ have taken now if in a real scrap. _Broken ribs. Strike to the gut. Heel into solar plexus. Dislocated left arm – _

Renji retracts Zabimaru, and flings his arm backwards to regain the sword's momentum.

_Killing side-slash to the neck._

The image is horrendously vivid, and slams into Ichigo's mind as if of its own will, the fading after-echo of a dozen more similar strikes he had seen during the war, the reverberation of an image tainted with shimmering crimson, and scarlet-laced tears –

Ichigo's reiatsu warps violently even as he yanks it back within himself. At the exact same moment, Hagane pinches the bridge of his nose and roars, "_Stop._" Renji falters, unsure. "Just…stop."

Then the wave of Ichigo's reiatsu washes over the entire group, and all jerk in surprise, save for a smiling Ichimaru Gin. Seven heads snap in Ichigo's direction. Hagane draws his zanpakutuo with a metallic rasp.

_Brilliant._

But Gin's icy fingers are already on the hilt of Hagane's sword, as the unblinking curve of his eyes turn towards the tree. "There's no reason to panic, Hagane-kun, assorted Newbie-chan. Kurosaki-taichou has strayed into our company. We should welcome him, as is polite." He does not raise his voice, but the words carry through the still air like the unwinding coils of a snake. "Kurosaki-taichou! We are honoured by your attendance." His tongue dances lightly over the greeting.

The six students-turned-shinigami narrow their eyes as one, trying to glimpse an edge of a haori. The emerald green leaves shift in a nonexistent wind, showing their silvery undersides, and then a figure drops lithely from the high branches and lands soundlessly on the grass.

The students blink, and Ichigo is suddenly beside Renji, haori resplendent in the sunlight. That was really barely shunpo for him, but to the newly inducted members, his speed is stunning.

"Yo," Ichigo says shortly, by way of greeting. Renji catches his eye and looks away immediately, his face changing from frustration to defiance to anger, emotions easy to read as an open book. That display alone was sufficient to show the gap between their skills.

"Welcome, Kurosaki-taichou," Gin says, bowling sleekly. The other hastily follow suit, Renji jerking his head forward unhappily and ignoring the look of disapproval that Kira gives him.

Gin tilts his head, strands of silver hair half-covering his slitted eyes. "Kurosaki-taichou, I imagine we could all benefit from your instruction. Please do give any advice you might have to our Renji-kun here."

Ichigo gives him a long, level look. If he had some sort of excuse to talk to Gin after the training session… Ichigo turns to a slightly sulky Renji, who is standing off to the side. "Renji," he snaps in his captain's voice, "get back over here."

Renji gives him a suspicious glance, but complies, settling into a ready position

Ichigo crosses him arms, and looks him straight in the eye. "If you fight constantly like you did just now, you_ will_ die a very messy and painful death during the first serious battle you enter."

Renji is predictably outraged, opening his mouth to hurl an insult back into Ichigo's face, when he realises that other people of rank are present. With visible effort, he works his jaw into submission, and grinds out, "Well, how would you advise me to _fix_ it, then?"

A blur of movement, and Ichigo is standing thirty paces away, directly in front of Renji. "Attack," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"What?" Renji says. "Attack _you_?"

"Yes, dumbo."

"But…"

"_Are you going to stand there all day like a pineapple?_"

Now that got Renji ticked off – unsure as he is where _pineapple_ came from, being compared to a spiky fruit _must_ be an insult. With a roar of determined fury, Renji springs forward, lunging with Zabimaru in full shikai mode, swinging his arm in a cleaving arc of whistling steel –

Ichigo stands serene, Zangetsu still strapped to his back, the silk ribbon on its hilt coasting upon the wind. He does not move.

Renji is within striking distance now, elbow curving inwards as the row of deadly metal hooks on Zabimaru's edge flies towards Ichigo's temple –

But it impacts nothing but air, as Ichigo darts not _outside_ the circle of Renji's reach but _inside_ it, stepping into the arc of his zanpakutuo. His face is still placidly tranquil, only a thin line between his brows revealing his concentration as, barehanded, he strikes like a falcon in a series of blindingly fast palm strikes. _Sternum. Ribcage. Solar Plexus. Carotid artery._

The strikes are calculated to barely sink into Renji's skin – contact, then retreat – and do no real harm. But as each hit thuds home, Ichigo hisses under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear except Renji, "_Dead._"

Dead four times in the space of less than a second.

Ichigo hasn't even entered shunpo.

Twisted off balance by the overextension of Zabimaru, Renji tips forward just as a foot hooks his ankle, and abruptly his face is zooming towards the ground, and his sword scythes out of his grip, and there is a hard hand where his skull meets his neck, forcing his head to the floor.

One last resounding palm strike to the back of the neck.

"_Dead_." Ichigo's voice is loud enough for everyone to hear this time. The word is not shouted, nor is it scathing. It is merely a cold, bitter fact.

Renji breathes in the smell of dirt and grass, rivulets of sweat running off his hair. Around him, he hears the other initiates shift, and several sounds of mingled fear, pity, and admiration.

He is also absolutely clear about where the pity is directed to, and where the admiration is.

Renji is about to wrestle the rising fountain of humiliation into a seething morass of hell-bent anger when the pressure on the back of his neck is lifted, and someone is roughly helping him to his feet.

Ichigo's voice is quietly frightening as he wheels on the sniggering three initiates. "Please, _do_ tell me what you find so funny. Would you like to come and have your go?" Frantic shaking of heads. "_Then shut up._"

They shut up. Renji is silently amazed. First he creams him into the dust, and then he _defends_ him?

Ichigo looks Renji up and down. "You okay to continue?" he asks.

"Er. Yeah?" Renji manages, too surprised to say more.

Ichigo looks at Gin and Hagane-san. Gin's smile widens, and he waves a pale hand. "By all means, continue, Kurosaki-taichou," he says, shrugging his narrow shoulders casually.

Renji blinks, and focuses. Ichigo nods, and steps back. "Right, tell me your shikai's biggest flaw."

Politely appalled, Renji stares. Ichigo rolls his eyes. "I _know_ what it is, Renji! I'm not telling you to reveal your weakness, I'm asking so you know yourself. So stop looking like I've told you to tell me about any secret crushes you have."

Renji blushes furiously. "Uh…I suppose…its three attack limit, and its inability to defend while attacking?"

"Exactly. And those defects are unchangeable. So what should you do?"

Hagane-san is nodding in assent behind them.

Renji fumbles over his words. "I suppose…I should…fight faster?"

A corner of Ichigo's mouth twists upwards. "_Yes._ That's exactly it."

Renji has no time to feel good about himself, because Ichigo follows it up harshly. "It is pointless for you to work on shikai without first perfecting shunpo. Get shunpo down, and the chances of you splatting on the battlefield diminishes spectacularly."

Renji nods. The two take up their former positions across the field.

Ichigo lets go of a long, slow breath as he turns to face Renji. Cooperating in this training session is likely to create an opportunity to talk to Gin, and there is an added benefit of making sure Pineapple-head doesn't kick the bucket at the next available opportunity. All the same, he had been trying to conserve reiatsu, not even using shunpo – he intends to use every last drop in breaking out of the cuffs when the portal is opened again.

He drops his hand as a signal to begin.

Renji powers towards him, face scrunched up in absolute concentration, and Ichigo only time to think _I can actually see a bit of Pineapple-head in there_ before a flurry of screeching metal and whirling blades forces him to duck and dodge like an agile cat. Renji's speed has markedly improved – Ichigo actually finds himself put under pressure at some points, providing that he is neither using shunpo nor Zangetsu.

In between the thudding beat of his pulse against his temples, Renji notices that there is something almost like _pride_ in Ichigo's eyes, as the captain flickers and darts back and forth around Zabimaru's reach. He frowns, surprised.

Ichigo takes advantage of this momentary lapse in focus and decides to fling himself into a single burst of shunpo – not a waste, merely to teach Renji a lifesaving lesson.

For a moment, tunnel vision descends as it always does at high speeds, the sky and ground and spectators all distorting into a heaving whorl of white and black and flashes of colour, and all remains is Renji's look of terror at imminent defeat, framed by his shock of scarlet hair.

Ichigo grins.

Then the world shudders, and Ichigo nearly trips over his own flying feet, as the cuffs on his wrists drive machete-like blades of a _foreign_ reiatsu into his system. _This should not be._ The restraints cause pain when a large amount of reiatsu is channeled, not a measly use of shunpo. And the cuffs themselves hold no reiatsu of their own. In the timeless period that is his mind during shunpo, Ichigo feels a flare of alarm. His hawklike eyes zoom in onto the shackles, where the smooth metal is broken into slim ridges where the hinges are.

Something scattered and red pulses crimson and deadly, pieces of a horribly familiar crystalline substance, shoved into the cracks of the cuffs…

_How did they get there? What _are_ they?_

Then an image that slams into his consciousness like a well-aimed fist, a revelation of boundless horror –

_Aizen's patronizing smile, glasses reflective…_

_Aizen reaching down to tap the reiatsu cuffs. Bile rising in his throat, threatening to regurgitate breakfast…_

And the final realisation that freezes his soul in a cold fist of fear.

_The Hogyoku was red._

There is no time to breathe, no time to think, no time to panic. Zangetsu flings up walled shields around his inner world, even as the quasi-Hogyoku's reiatsu floods his very being, the screams of a hundred murdered shinigami and reiatsu-sensitive souls burrowing into his consciousness, men, women, children, nameless reiatsu signatures, _Matsumoto Rangiku_, and the wave of blood-red reiatsu sweeps through, and the voices turn into a hundred _hollow cries_ –

Ichigo's inner hollow awakens with a _roar_ of wrath, throwing a torrent of hollowfied reiatsu back at the incoming wave, trapping the red reiatsu between his core and his skin, preventing the poisonous power from leaching towards the six initiates. His inner world explodes into a war of two reiatsus.

His inner hollow shrieks. _Boss is _my_ human! MINE!_

Ichigo gasps a breath, and twists his body into a powerful roundhouse kick that slams into Renji's midriff, sending the redhead flying twenty feet away into the soft grass. _Get away from me!_

Renji chokes, eyes bulging as gasps for air. But he is able to struggle to his feet a second later, showing no lasting damage. He holds his side and glares at Ichigo.

But Ichigo is artificially rigid, eyes glassy and breaths coming in short wheezing gulps. His reiatsu is almost undetectable, held to shimmering layer above his skin.

"Hey," Renji says, "are you okay?" He had half-imagined in the moment before impact that Ichigo had _concern_ on his face, before the kick slammed him into the ground. Behind the captain, Hagane is also frowning. But Renji narrows his eyes. Is Ichimaru-fukutaichou…grinning? Not that he isn't _usually_ smiling, but the man's smile is now infinitely more predatory.

_What's going on?_

Then Ichigo suddenly straightens, and relaxes, unclenching his fists. His reiatsu is still almost invisible, an unnatural state for a shinigami of his power. "My apologies," Ichigo says stiffly, a weird glint in his eyes, "I cannot channel much reiatsu without infringing on these restraints. I find myself unable to participate any further."

Renji tenses. The style of Ichigo's speech has abruptly changed, and the faraway look in his gaze almost suggests that he is concentrating hard on something else while trying to maintain a semblance of conversation. _Something's up…_

But Gin's smooth tones break in. "Of course, Kurosaki-taichou. Thank you for your…contribution."

Ichigo turns in that stiff, awkward way, and bows. "Ichimaru-fukutaichou. I wish to speak with you. May I have a moment of your time?"

Now _that_ was unexpected. Gin actually flicks his head to the side, the only indication of his surprise. But then he answers silkily. "Naturally, Kurosaki-taichou. By your leave, Hagane-san?"

Ichigo and Gin sweep away from the training grounds as the seven bow their farewells, Ichigo still walking with less grace than he usually does.

Renji returns to his place, just in time to hear Kira hiss, "What was that all about?"

"I dunno," Renji shoots back. When he looks, Ichigo and Gin have already disappeared around the corner.

In his hand, Zabimaru feels heavier.

* * *

**Now, I hope you guys liked that. Next chapter is when Gin is (hopefully) persuaded, and things literally **_**snowball**_** after that. Our two separated dears will be like so not for much longer. **

**Review please, I love you guys! :)**

**Replies to guest reviews:**

**vine: Thanks for the review! And no, the blood butterfly is not canonical, it's just something I made up and threw in. As I see it, anything to do with blood is generally an acceptable extension of kido/magic/power spells in any fandom. So I just threw it in :)**

**Guest: Why thank you :)**

**Anon: Thanks, and yes, I do think so :) Definitely the origin of that :)**

**blades of blood 488: Thank you for the review! I'll definitely keep on going :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Now, what is this? A chapter after FIVE days? It's a whopping **_**three**_** days early! It really is – and the reason is because I am trying to make sure that I finish this fic before uni starts. So I have to write fast. This five day update is to give me a good excuse if I am slightly late next chapter :)**

**Thanks to reviewers: EverMindTheRuleOfThree, Dashita Tichou, Tango Dancer, Debido, MerryKitten, Chirpy Hitomi chan, Lovely Loree, KJC2025, MugetsuIchigo, Titiaredhead, Phantom Claire, Ru-tama, DLC2904, Taichichaser2000, Moon's last stand, uzuki-chan, brialees, BleachFreak16, Miyo86, mypupps1, Qwerty321, Tsuki no Yukihime, Darkest Kurogetsu, ilovebks, Mathlete123, NobodyEpic, Athena SFM, ZeroRose90, Kireina-Ame, MrsAuroraBriefs, GhibliGirl91.**

**I don't own Bleach, only the story :) Love you guys, hope you like it!**

* * *

_Renji tenses. The style of Ichigo's speech has abruptly changed, and the faraway look in his gaze almost suggests that he is concentrating hard on something else while trying to maintain a semblance of conversation. Something's up…_

_Ichigo turns in that stiff, awkward way, and bows. "Ichimaru-fukutaichou. I wish to speak with you. May I have a moment of your time?"_

_Now that was unexpected. Gin actually flicks his head to the side, the only indication of his surprise. But then he answers silkily. "Naturally, Kurosaki-taichou. By your leave, Hagane-san?"_

_Ichigo and Gin sweep away from the training grounds as the seven bow their farewells, Ichigo still walking with less grace than he usually does._

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

That particular training ground is actually more like a garden, a broad lawn of carefully clipped grass framed by delicately manicured flowerbeds of every bright colour imaginable. Along the northern edge of the yard, a line of elegant plum trees forms a shimmering wall of silver-pink blossoms – not nearly as exquisitely beautiful as Kuchiki Byakuya's, but a sight nonetheless.

But all this picturesque glory is immaterial to Ichigo as he strides towards the very center of the courtyard, beads of sweat running down his temples as a silent war rages in his inner world, his hollow roaring dominance over the relentless pulse of sickening, vile crimson reiatsu that pours into his soul from the blinking crystals that are embedded into the cuffs on his wrists. The clamour in his mind is never-ending and monstrous, shrieks of claw against claw, teeth against bone, as his inner hollow defends his mind from intrusion.

Ichigo has unconsciously picked this training ground not because of its quiet beauty, but rather because it is possible to speak without being overheard – the row of plum trees is as good a sound barrier as anything. The conversion of Gin to his plan of escape is crucial beyond reason. Gin is the only person in this time that has a sufficient grasp of Aizen's true nature to affect his actions in any way. _If he can be convinced, Rukia and I might have a chance…_

Easier said than done. Manipulating Gin of all people is not unlike trying to charm a deadly snake out of a basket with a broken reedpipe. Not to mention the incessant sounds of war inside his head is distracting enough.

_MY HUMAN, MY MIND, MY WORLD! _his inner hollow screams.

"–feeling well, Kurosaki-taichou?" Gin's mocking tones break into his thoughts.

Ichigo swallows the rising bile in his throat, and grimaces. "I'm fine." He stops suddenly in the middle of the yard, taking a quick scan of their surroundings to check for the presence of other shinigami.

Gin stops also, hands folded neatly in his sleeves, sunlight glancing off his hair. "Why are we taking this little walk, Kurosaki-taichou?" he asks teasingly, his smile taunting.

Ichigo takes a deep breath. _Calm._ There is no use playing with words, nor trying to tiptoe around the situation. He has one chance to hit the mark – if his first words do not cut deep into Gin's center, the game is lost.

"We are taking this _walk_, Gin, because Matsumoto Rangiku comes close to tasting death." Ichigo delivers this with all the force of a sword-strike, holding Gin's gaze bluntly.

_That _strikes home. Gin flinches back in an uncharacteristic show of shock, as if someone has stabbed him in the heart. The snake-grin disappears, the jaunty tilt of his head straightens, his thin shoulders tense abruptly, and, most telling of all, the slitted eyes are hidden no longer as his eyelids snap open, and the ice-blue irises are visible like windows to his soul.

"_What…_" The word is whispered, almost accidental.

This is delicate. Ichigo has mere seconds to make use of this moment of weakness. A single slip, and fangs will sink into his neck. He cannot hope to match Gin in a fight with the reiatsu cuffs on, and his inner hollow screaming in his ear.

"Your plan against Aizen is, was, and will ever be stupid. There is no other word for it. Your idiocy _will_ eventually place Matsumoto-san in severe danger – more than once – and she _will_ first suffer near-mortal injury at the hands of an arrancar, then try to defy Aizen himself while chasing after you in an attempt to _redeem_ you."

Gin's wiry fingers are suddenly around Ichigo's wrist, gripping strong enough to break bone. "_How do you know this?_" he hisses, face twisting horribly, "_How do you know me?_"

Ichigo looks at him levelly, quelling the rapid thudding of his heart. "I know this because you die."

Gin's grip does not falter, but his fingers freeze.

Ichigo ploughs onwards. "You die at the hands of Aizen, in the human world, cradled in your last moments in the arms of a sobbing Matsumoto Rangiku, which Aizen allows to live at that moment only because to him she is a worm beneath his notice, and he is a sadist beyond measure who enjoys seeing her cry over your lifeless body."

The debilitating hold on his arm looses, as Gin totters backwards. "I will _never_ let that happen," Gin hisses. "I am next to that _serpent_ now so I can kill him myself."

A snort. "And what do you end up achieving?" Ichigo asks derisively. "You predict _nothing_. You are a pawn to him, until the last moment that you draw breath. All you end up predicting is his _invulnerability_." He is being deliberately provocative – he must push Gin to the very edge. Of course, that can be compared to trying to defuse a Class A explosive by activating it – fraught with danger.

"_You lie_," Gin snarls, all pretense of joking calm gone.

"I _do not lie_. What I told you, I will see – have seen – with my own eyes in the Winter War."

"Does she live?" Gin's voice is almost a choke.

The question surprises Ichigo. Gin had almost sounded human, there. He hesitates.

"_DOES SHE LIVE?_" Gin nearly shouts, hand gripping his sword's hilt like a lifeline.

"Yes," Ichigo says. Then he looks Gin right in the eyes. "Because I defeat Aizen before he has a chance to kill her."

With that, Gin snaps back into his persona, although the trademark grin is absent. There is silence for a moment. "What do you want, Kurosaki Ichigo?" he finally says, voice devoid of any lilt.

A sudden wind whirls through the clearing, picking up the hems of their shihakushuo and whipping Ichigo's haori into a streaming pennant behind him. At that moment, Ichigo's inner hollow roars in a defiant cry of bloodstained victory, and Zangetsu's walls crumble in exhaustion as the final remnants of Hogyoku-fed reiatsu disappear into nothingness.

Ichigo stumbles, nearly falling to his knees even as a pale glint of crimson dust drifts from the hinges of his cuffs, the Hogyoku shards crumbled into powder.

_All done, Boss. I'm going to sleep now, if you don't mind, neh?_

_Thank you_, Ichigo thinks blearily to the hollow that curled up in his consciousness. A grumbling reply is all the hollow returns.

Ichigo looks up to find Gin regarding him with one hand tight on his zanpakutuo's hilt, standing in a vaguely defensive stance. The man looks actually _alert_ for a threat, forgoing that usual laconical stance. It does make sense, considering that Ichigo has just demonstrated that he is powerful enough to flat-out destroy a half-complete Hogyoku, with reiatsu cuffs on.

"_What_ are you, Kurosaki Ichigo?" Gin says quietly.

Ichigo does not answer immediately, tapping his wrists to tips the last of the shards onto the grass. "To tell the truth, I don't really know," he says equally softly. But when he looks up, his eyes are steel. "But what I _do_ know is that I was the fulcrum of the war. I was an…unexpected…quantity. Without me, Seireitei would have fallen, all the captains slaughtered, and Aizen the eternal ruler of the three dimensions. Matsumoto-san would have died, along with Tousen and you. Aizen does not share power."

Gin tilts his head, and says nothing. Ichigo waits. The passing mention of Hueco Mundo must have helped convince the silver-haired man further – at present, no other shinigami would have known its existence except for Aizen and his two subordinates.

One last curving smile. "Surely you jest, Kurosaki-taichou. You cannot be the _sole_ reason that Seireitei did not fall."

Ichigo senses that they are very close to the tipping point now. "That is not what I said, Gin," he says calmly. "I was _essential_ to Aizen's defeat. Others helped, but without me, all would have been lost. I do not boast – I am simply telling the truth."

Gin stares, wordless.

Ichigo reaches the crux of the matter. "I am not born yet, Gin. I am born nearly thirty years in the future, as a human with never-before-seen levels of spiritual concentration. I went from human to a captain-level shinigami in the space of weeks, due to a delicate coincidence, that, if prevented, will spell the death of the Gotei, including Matsumoto-san."

"Why?" The question hangs between them.

"Why what?"

"Why would you, a human, delve into a war that is none of your business?" Gin is actually curious, now. The inquisitive question of one morally shaded.

Ichigo sighs. "Why would you want to kill Aizen with your own hand? The same reason – I have someone I _need_ to protect."

There is a shift between them now, a beginning of an understanding. Gin looks at Ichigo differently, and a gleam of his blue eyes can be seen through the cracks between his eyelids. There is no use for the mocking politeness that is Gin's persona anymore – both know what lies at each other's core.

"What do you want, Kurosaki Ichigo?" The same question as before, except this time an acquiescence.

It surprises Ichigo how tired Gin sounds. Perhaps he, too, is tired of living a lie. "I need to escape, along with Kuchiki Rukia," he answers simply. "Aizen _cannot_ discover what I am. If he does, his plans will be accelerated astronomically. Seireitei is not ready to fight him. All will fall."

One of Gin's hands gestures with an elegant flick of white fingers. "And how do you propose I can help, Kurosaki Ichigo? You know Aizen's true nature better than I."

Ichigo shakes his head, brushing his hair back and out of his eyes. "Aizen is not infallible. His one, greatest, flaw, is easy for anyone to see."

"And it is?" Gin's fingers curl in midair.

"Hubris. Arrogance. A sheer ability to overestimate himself and underestimate others." A plum blossom lands gently on Zangetsu's hilt. "He has made a mistake already – sending you to supervise me instead of coming himself."

Gin dips his head. "Granted. You _are_ more perceptive than you look, Kurosaki Ichigo." His tone is mildly laughing again.

Ichigo shifts, facing Gin directly. _Now or never._ "The portal to my time will open soon." Gin moves imperceptibly at this piece of information. "I suppose that these cuffs are rigged to set off a perimeter alarm if I were to leave the Fifth Division's grounds?"

Gin's smile stretches wide. "Yes," he answers, bowing slightly.

Ichigo shoves his hands towards Gin. "Get rid of that aspect. Now. I cannot hope to open the portal if Aizen is on my tail immediately upon my flight."

"And what if I decline?" Gin says, hands folded into sleeves again.

"Then Matsumoto will die," Ichigo says levelly, proffering the cuffs.

A moment passes, as clear blue irises meet dark brown ones. Then something unspoken passes between them, a breaking of something in Gin.

And then, somewhat paradoxically, Gin's smile is back full force. "I cannot remove the cuffs entirely, but if the cuffs' signature is masked by my own reiatsu, it will not trip the boundary alarms." A twin tap of slender fingers later, Ichigo's cuffs are floating in Gin's reiatsu.

Ichigo gives the cuffs a poke of his own reiatsu, nodding his thanks. He turns to go – and then, by a strange whim, knowing that their paths will never cross again, at least not for him – he looks back, and speaks quickly. "Matsumoto-san misses you. But she is happy, I suppose. She has good friends. And she is safe."

The snake-smile grows, but somehow it is less disturbing than before. "I will endeavour to deter Aizen if he discovers your disappearance."

A spark of something from Ichigo's wrists. Frowning, he pokes them with a finger. Perhaps something to do with Gin's reiatsu… Then, with a small _pop_, Ichigo feels his reiatsu start trickling into empty nothingness, the fabric between worlds.

_It's time._

Ichigo does not spare a second to give Gin a backwards look, launching himself into the sky.

A falling plum blossom lands at Gin's feet as the fukutaichou straightens, affixing his smile and slitting his eyes again. Turning, he strides back towards the large training fields, his head of silver hair shining, back to a life of darkness, and a heart of grey.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The silence in the Kuchiki household is oppressive. The master is away, calling on the Shiba clan about some indeclinable invitation to something social or the other, although most of the servants are quite sure that it is something horrifically bad. The Kuchiki head had all but stormed, in all his noble elegance, out of the house in his best robes instead of his shihakushuo and haori – therefore not work-related – complete with a petrifying scowl on his strong features, one of such magnitude unseen since the days after Hisana-sama passed away. When the master wears such an expression, even the scullery maids have long learned to be as quiet and soundless as possible. The master is not cruel. But his moods…well, they are unpleasant.

And so Rukia finds herself wrapped on all sides with a blanket of absolute, impenetrable silence. Her imprisonment in her own home is exacerbated by the complete and utter disappearance of any white-robed servants since early morning, when Nii-sama had given her a very hard look – commanding _stay_, an order worthy of a _pet_ – and left the house. The halls are ghostlike, the birds have flown south for the winter, and although the plum blossoms are as gloriously beautiful as any other year, there is a ghostlike stillness about the house, a loneliness beyond words. Kaien had left when the sun was barely a fingerswidth above the horizon.

"Neh, Kuchiki," he had said as he turned to leave, "Just in case I don't get to see you again, I want you to know that I'm proud of you."

She had nodded, and then he was gone the next moment.

Solitude is made worse by silence.

The cuffs on Rukia's wrists flare hot with pain, but she has learned to accept it and block it somewhat throughout the dozen times she has fallen on the hard dirt after a misplaced shunpo. Standing gingerly, she wipes her bleeding palms on her shihakushuo, and readies herself again. _Nearly there. Nearly._ Six hours in the garden has given her enough control over the measly pool of reiatsu at her disposal to manage a good level of shunpo, and, even better, access to Sode no Shirayuki.

Sode no Shirayuki shifts in her consciousness. _Are you well, Rukia?_

_I'm fine_, she thinks, determined to try just once more.

_There's no point wearing yourself out, Rukia. Rest. You can try again later._

Rukia wants to deny this, but her feet tremble, and she sits heavily next to one of the wooden columns that supports the overhang above the walkway, reaching out to finger her sword with one bloody finger. _Okay._

Resting her head on the grained wood, her zanpakutuo in one elbow, she gazes up at the sky. The heavens are growing reddish mauve in hue, now. Three hours from sunset. A full day without Ichigo. So far, she has avoided thinking too much about Ichigo, for her mind flew quickly to what horrors Aizen might have in store for him, and all of a sudden she had found it difficult to breathe. But now, looking at the sky, unbidden thoughts of him flutter across her thoughts.

_How is he? Is he okay? Is he afraid?_

It is hard to think of Ichigo as ever capable of being _afraid_. Always, those brown eyes, if not soft, then hard with anger. Never frightened.

Rukia wishes she can, too, be without fear. But no, here she is, terrified for him.

"Ichigo…" the word escapes from her lips without her wanting it to. The sudden sound actually surprises her, the first human speech she has heard all day.

No answer, from the stillness. Alone. The sky is changing colour slowly, framed in her eyes as a reflection of emptiness in violet.

Then, a shadow leaps across that space, a flash of black and white. _Kaien again?_

Black and white and _orange_…

With a gasp, Rukia sits up, electrified, and her limbs almost betray her as she scrambles ungracefully forward, reiatsu cuffs impacting the floor dully, feet sinking into grass as she throws herself across the yard –

– and a pair of strong arms catches her, and gathers her up against a warm haori, and she laughs a broken laugh as someone strokes her hair, and her knees don't really seem able to hold her weight but it's okay because she's being held and holding on too tightly anyway for her to fall.

"You're late, bakamono," she chokes, breathing in the smell of grass and lightning.

"I tried my best, Rukia." Ichigo's voice is so inexpressibly _him_ that she laughs again, the sound bubbling up from within her, and her eyes are sort of wet, for some reason. She scrubs them off on the haori, rubbing her face into the cloth in the process.

"Oi. I'm not a Chappy plushie for you to burrow into, you know." His hand is still stroking her hair. "Are you alright, Rukia?"

"Mm-hmm." Muffled into his front.

A sigh of relief. Then a change in Ichigo's voice, as he snaps into survival mode. "We've got to go, Rukia. There's not much time, the portal is about to open. We need to get to an open space."

"Right," Rukia says, pushing herself away and looking up at him, scrubbing at her nose and eyes with one pristine white glove. The shadows beneath Ichigo's eyes are pronounced, and he looks tired beyond measure. But the gleam of determination in those brown irises are unchanged.

Suddenly, his voice is sharp. "Your _hands_, Rukia! What happened to them –"

"I'm fine, Ichigo. I fell a bit. They don't hurt." She tries to hide them behind her, but he moves too fast and snatches her small hands out of the air, cradling them in his own.

"Rukia…"

"They're only cuts. They'll be fine." She holds his gaze evenly, until she senses his surrender.

Ichigo shunpos to one side and fetches Sode no Shirayuki, handing the sword to Rukia. "Here, I'll have to carry you –"

Rukia shakes her head quickly. "No, I can shunpo. You shouldn't waste your strength, you need it to force open the portal."

Ichigo gives her a searching look for a moment, then nods once, looking to the west with a frown. "Sokyoku Hill is the closest place we can open the portal." Rukia shudders, but Ichigo's calming hand cups her cheek immediately. "We'll be fine. Here, take my hand."

Rukia slips her hand in his warm one gratefully, and with a single look between them, a look that mirrors the ones they share before every battle, the two pitch themselves upwards into the crimson sky.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The sky is a streaked arc of scarlet and gold, the bright blue of day leaching slowly into the colours of sunset. It is really a spectacular piece of artwork, tongues of gilded yellow flame fanning over the backcloth of burning crimson, an unending conflagration streaming from the fiery sun itself, barely touching the western horizon.

In the ruby sunlight in the west, and the first hint of stars appearing on a thick cloak of night in the east, the great soul-blade of Sokyoku Hill gleams with the colour of blood on one side, and the echo of shadowed darkness on the other.

Ichigo tears through the air at a breakneck speed, his hand gripping Rukia's tightly, half pulling, half dragging her across the sky. He can hear Rukia's winded panting through gaps in the wind as she struggles to keep up with his pace. But he cannot afford to slow down even the slightest increment, for he can feel the portal begin to awaken through the depths of his reiatsu. On his wrists, the reiatsu cuffs begin to tingle with a foreshadow of oncoming pain, biting into his skin. Gin's layer of reiatsu is long gone, burned away by whatever wards that framed the boundaries of the Fifth Division grounds.

Looking back quickly, Ichigo finds no pursuers behind them, the sky empty of any shinigami. He whispers a quick thank you to Isshin and Kaien for whatever distraction they offered Byakuya, and a grudging internal nod to Gin for delaying Aizen.

The mere thought of Aizen chills his soul. _What if I can't open the portal in time?_

His worry must have shown on his face, for Rukia shoots him a quick reassuring smile, warming his heart. He smiles weakly back, and concentrates on shunpo again.

Then, all too soon, the forbidding mass of Sokyoku Hill looms like a dark giant in front of them, a cut-out against the setting sun, and Ichigo lands with a long skid of dust by the foot of the immense gallows. Rukia also touches down a moment after him, but instead of letting go of their joined hands and bending over to catch her breath, she races forward to hide herself in the shadow of Ichigo's tall form, blocking the sight of the gallows from her perspective.

_Clothed all in white, and the roaring morass of flame scything like a bird of prey – _

Ichigo immediately reaches forward to steady her, turning her gently away from the sight of her own execution, so long ago and yet somehow fresh like an open wound. "It's okay, Rukia. I hacked the crappy thing to bits, remember? It's just a shadow of a memory. Hey, hey –"

Rukia is trembling.

Although his reiatsu is spiking from the growing pressure of the opening portal, Ichigo sinks to his knees, pulling her into the circle of his arms, his back to the the gallows as if shielding her physically from their presence. If she is small when standing, she is even smaller curled into a shaking ball, head buried in his haori.

"Shh, shh," Ichigo whispers, "we're nearly there. Here. Take my hands, and don't let go, okay? I'll need you to hold them tight, because I've got to open the portal now, and the next bit might hurt a little."

Rukia stops shivering and looks up sharply, alarm washing over her face as fear for him crushes her fear of the Sokyoku blade.

"Yep," Ichigo says, and before Rukia has a chance to protest, rips open the floodgates to his reiatsu reserves and inundates his reiatsu cuffs with an unbreakable flow of power. In the back of his mind, he feels Zangetsu pour out every ounce of reiatsu at his disposal.

A bright singularity, whirring luminescent cerulean, pops into existence beside their crouched forms.

Rukia makes a small sound of hopeful wonder at the beginnings of their gate to home, but then just as abruptly, Ichigo's fingers grow viselike interlaced in hers, and he bends forward with a muffled cry of pain.

"Ichigo?" Rukia ventures, alarmed.

He just shakes his head, brown eyes hidden behind scrunched eyelids, wordlessly shuddering as he visibly shakes from waves of pain. Rukia can only hold his hands tightly, offering what comfort she can through that touch.

For Ichigo, the air, the world, the crimson sky all fades into an endless rush of terrifying agony, so intense and horrific it takes his breath away, and is everything and nothing at the same time. For he sees nothing but pulsing flashes of red and white, bleeding over his vision; he tastes nothing but the salty-sweet tang of blood on his tongue and his lips; he hears nothing but the thundering sound of his lifeblood roaring like a tide in his ears; he smells nothing but the crackle and pop of ozone as the portal burns the very air, and the odour of burning flesh as the reiatsu cuffs sear themselves into permanent memory on the raw skin of his wrists.

But still he empties his reiatsu into the abyss that is the portal, clenching his teeth against the throbbing pain, because if they – no, if _Rukia_ is trapped in this cold world of callous brothers and sickening danger, he cannot live with himself.

The portal wavers in midair, and begins to grow steadily, electric flashes of lightning crisscrossing it's mouth and the dark depths of nothingness within.

But the pain crescendos on an arc of pure agony, and Ichigo can barely bring himself to breathe anymore, and Zangetsu is groaning in his mind. Ichigo calls out to the hollow within the skyscrapers in his consciousness, the buildings shaking under an earthquake. _Help us!_

_Er, no, Boss, you'll be needin' me for later, so do I swear, Boss._

_SHUT UP AND HELP US!_

_No, really, Boss, you'll see what I mean in a sec. Sorry. For now, I mean. I'm not sorry for later._

With that single cryptic remark, his inner hollow falls silent. Ichigo has no time to worry about why the usually complaint partnership between him and his hollow is completely null and void at _this_ moment of all times.

So Ichigo has to struggle on with only Zangetsu aiding him, and his vision is growing blacker now, and he begins to forget where he is and what he is doing, just wishing for the pain to stop…

His hands are warm.

Someone is gripping his hands very, very tight, and somehow this roots him to earth and reminds him who he is.

He can't leave. Not yet, anyway, until he remembers who is it that holds his hands.

Ooh, the black is creeping deeper now. He isn't really sure why, but he doesn't like it.

Warm hands. Warm hands are nice. Small fingers grasping his wrists. Hmm.

"– eyes, Ichigo! _Please_ –"

Okay, Ichigo is probably his name. Yeah. Who's speaking, then?

"_Please breathe, please_ –"

Hmm. Yup, definitely familiar. The dark is really getting a bit oppressive now. The pain is a bit farther away though. Is that a good thing?

"_OPEN YOUR EYES, ICHIGO!"_

Oh. Rukia.

And his eyes fly open as he takes a new, choked breath, and the darkness recedes away, and he looks into beautiful violet irises brimming with unshed tears, and he thinks, _of course it's Rukia_. Then the pain comes crashing down again, nearly knocking him over, but the portal is almost as tall as he is now, and the winds are whipping violently across their kneeling forms.

And he smiles through the pain, gripping Rukia's hands in return, determined to endure this agony and see this through –

Then, anticlimactically, Urahara's lightly singing voice sounds out from the shadowed portal. "Okaaaay, that's quite enough, Kurosaki-taichou~! We've got enough of your reiatsu to run the machine. Please hold, we're going to stabilise the portal before you can come through."

Ichigo cuts off the reiatsu flow with a strangled gasp, and Zangetsu reels back in his mind. Rukia darts forward and supports him as he nearly tips over, his vision blacking out for a second.

With a deadened finality, the reiatsu cuffs crumble to ash, steel-grey metal floating away in the wind of the portal and leaving red rings of burned flesh on Ichigo's wrists.

Ichigo breathes. Rukia's tears tip over her eyelids at last and drip onto their joined hands, even as she smiles tremulously. They are going home. They are going home.

"Bakamono," Rukia chides softly.

Ichigo can only laugh through a spasm of coughs.

"This will take a couple of minutes, please wait," Urahara says. "We can't hear you, but I'm sure you can hear us. We've got a welcoming committee all ready."

And then Isshin's voice, his _dad's_ voice, not the other one who doesn't know him, sounds out obscenely loudly from the portal. "Yo, sonny! I'm sure that although I can't hear your complaining over my lecture, I'm going to give you one anyway! Yay! Ahem. _Kurosaki Shiba Ichigo_, through this bit of tomfoolerywith a time machine, you nearly missed_ your sisters' graduation from the Academy! _You nearly missed the graduation of my _twin darlings_ – you're going to get it when you come back, thou hast been warned! Muahahaha!" His voice is ridiculously cheerful, even when threatening his son.

Ichigo grins tiredly, but Rukia is the one to chuckle, leaning into his chest.

"Yeah, Dad," Ichigo murmurs, although his father cannot hear him yet.

Ichigo and Rukia are both facing the portal, completely ignorant of the rest of Seireitei laid out behind them.

So when a different voice, this one a mocking, twisting taunt, falls upon their ears, they are caught entirely unawares.

"Greetings, Ichigo-kun, Rukia-chan. Beautiful weather tonight, isn't it? A little bird – wonderfully innocent, that little girl – told me you would be here. I'm afraid I can't really let you go at the moment, there are many more things we have to do together."

There are no words to describe the feeling of icy terror that floods Ichigo's heart at that moment. Rukia stiffens in his arms. Ichigo turns his head, too slowly, too slowly, to look behind him.

"What you did with the Hogyoku was really quite impressive, Ichigo-kun. Care to tell me how you did it? Gin-fukutaichou isn't really sure exactly how, isn't that right, Gin-kun?"

Ichigo's inner hollow shrugs awake. _Told ya, Boss. I'm wide awake now. Told ya you would be needing me later, neh?_

Ichimaru Gin stands in midair, his grin and eyes as inscrutable as always, his fake persona drawn tight around him. And behind him, Aizen Sousuke smiles mildly behind his glasses, standing twenty feet above the edge of Sokyoku hill.

* * *

**Now, please don't kill me. I would very much like to be alive, so I can write the next chapter, no? (Grins evilly) I have mistreated Ichigo and Rukia very much indeed, and I will mistreat them further, with my wondrous power as a writer – MUAHAHAHAHA!**

**And that, my friends, is the sound of a writer drunk on her own power.**

**Review please, if only to shout at me :)**

**Replies to Guest reviews:**

**ZeroRose90: Thank you so much! And as regards to Rukia…I won't reveal anything yet. Look out for it :)**

**Dashita Tichou: Thanks for reviewing! Considering you've now read the chapter…you have your answer. Poor Ichi! I hope you liked the chapter :)**

**By the way people if I missed anyone please do tell me! **


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello people. This is right on time, as I said – end of the week, uploaded for your Sunday enjoyment. You may want to kill me at the end of the chapter. I ask that you postpone your murderous intentions, at least until I have time to finish the story and run away for a bit before you all come on a mass attack with your assorted zanpakutuo. **

**Thanks to reviewers: DLC2904, uzuki-chan, BleachFreak16, Codegeasslulu, MerryKitten, poooy200, Phantom Claire, Debido, The Unknown ShiniGami, IronEclipse, ZeroRose90, Lovely Loree, Titiaredhead, brialees, ilovebks, Taichichaser2000, laughingspider, Allyieh, Moon's last stand, GhibliGirl91, MugetsuIchigo, Dashita Tichou, mypupps1, Qwerty 321, Mtmeye, Athena SFM, KJC2025, Darkest Kurogetsu, NobodyEpic, (three times!), Emu Thing, Daedricdragon, Chirpy Hitomi chan, Guest, Tsuki No Yukihime.**

**I don't own, I only own the plot. Enjoy, people! :)**

* * *

"_Greetings, Ichigo-kun, Rukia-chan. Beautiful weather tonight, isn't it? A little bird – wonderfully innocent, that little girl – told me you would be here. I'm afraid I can't really let you go at the moment, there are many more things we have to do together."_

_There are no words to describe the feeling of icy terror that floods Ichigo's heart at that moment. Rukia stiffens in his arms. Ichigo turns his head, too slowly, too slowly, to look behind him._

_Ichigo's inner hollow shrugs awake. Told ya, Boss. I'm wide awake now. Told ya you would be needing me later, neh?_

_Ichimaru Gin stands in midair, his grin and eyes as inscrutable as always, his fake persona drawn tight around him. And behind him, Aizen Sousuke smiles mildly behind his glasses, standing twenty feet above the edge of Sokyoku hill._

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The world is red. The red of blood, carnation-red, long swathes of scarlet silk and cloth and tainted sky. Everything is painted in shades of carmine, from the dying sphere that is the setting sun to the dusky spinnets of trailing light that fights on the boundary between lifeblood and night, to the haze of alizarin that dances across Ichigo's vision in a mad rush of fear, anger, and venomous hate. Beside him, Rukia's face is similarly twisted in a scornful sneer of hatred surprisingly reminiscent of her brother.

For the half-moment when Aizen pauses in his speech, Ichigo assesses the situation. Gin's hair is silver, but tainted with the light – a rust-like colour of blood on a blade, an ominous call of what is to come. But it is impossible to judge whether it is the smiling man who has betrayed them. Gin had seemed amenable enough to Ichigo's plan after that talk about Masumoto-san, and for all Ichigo knows, the man might have tried his best to delay Aizen, only to have failed under someone else's report…

"Ah, Ichigo-kun!" Aizen's voice again. "You must be wondering how I was informed of your little escapade. I must say you played your cards admirably well, considering I see no shadow of Kuchiki-taichou here. You must have distracted him also. I confess myself to have underestimated you, Ichigo-kun. I would not have known of your excursion tonight to the portal if not for my trustworthy new recruit."

Ichigo narrows his eyes. _Renji?_

Aizen's glasses blaze as they catch the last rays of the sun. "Nay, not the stubborn-headed brat. My darling Hinamori-chan. That girl shall go places, someday. I daresay I can trust her with much."

Ichigo does not reply, but is acutely aware of the seconds ticking away. If, somehow, Aizen can be distracted until Urahara stabilizes the portal, then Rukia and he might have a chance.

Aizen laughs. "Oh, you don't seem surprised at Momo-chan's betrayal. Then again, you _are_ from the future. You know her better than I." He claps his hands. "Now, I'm going to ask this once, only. Please step away from the portal and come back into my custody. I promise I won't hurt you or Rukia-chan."

There is no avoiding it. Ichigo stands smoothly in a single graceful motion, ignoring the aches that plague his joints from his overuse of reiatsu in forcing the portal open. He takes a deep breath, and allows the veritable river of fury and frustration that he has kept barely simmering under his skin for the past few days in hell to rush forward and show itself in a ferocious grin.

Zangetsu's ribbon unwraps easily, and Ichigo revels in the feeling of his zanpakutuo's hilt in his hand. _Finally._

He raises his head and says perfectly levelly, "I would sooner rot in the seven layers of hell than go to you, Aizen."

A small hand grasps his as Rukia also rises, struggling to her feet and reaching for Sode no Shirayuki. "Let's do this, Ichigo," she says, the unbridled bloodthirstiness in her voice startling him.

Ichigo can see full well that she is itching to paint her zanpakutuo with fresh blood, but the fact remains that she is still cuffed. "No, Rukia," he says gently, not taking his eyes off Aizen, "not in your condition."

Rukia's eyes, afire with determination, flick quickly to him, then back at her prey. Her teeth are gritted as she says, "Fine, Ichigo. But I want the last kill, and if you end up in any danger, I'm coming, _taichou_." The use of the honorific is specifically calculated to remind Ichigo that she is his second-in-command and therefore bound in duty to fight alongside him.

"Granted, fukutaichou."

Ichigo steps lightly into the air, until he is level with Aizen and Gin. The twilight wind whips Zangetsu's tassel into a frenzy, the drumbeat before battle. Below, he senses Rukia folding herself into a meditative position, focusing her reiatsu into breaking her own cuffs.

Aizen's mouth is curved into a belittling arc. "Disobedient, I see. Come, Kurosaki-taichou," he says formally. "Let us see what you are made of." The last sentence has a double meaning, for both know that Ichigo's true nature is about to be revealed.

Gin shunpos to the side, ready but detached from the actual fight.

_So, Aizen thinks he can take me on alone, hmm? _

Ichigo's inner hollow snickers. _Let's teach him better, Boss. _Zangetsu inclines his head.

Ichigo grins widely, the bloodlust of battle flooding him, changing his stance and firming his grip and washing any trace of mercy from his features. "So, Aizen-taichou," he says mockingly, "have you seen for yourself the full affects of hollowfication? I think I am happy to oblige."

Then the world explodes, combusts in a searing whirlwind of fire and black lightning, as Zangetsu roars into bankai with scorching heat and the sound of the air itself burning; and all is reduced to a photographic film of black and white, light and dark, both sides aflame in fierce majesty. And his sword is no longer a broad expanse of shield and blade, but a long, sharp shard of shadow and darkness, no longer needing to defend, because the edge of sable is the scythe of Death himself, come to scorn the fading candles of the living.

But Ichigo does not pause, because Zangetsu is strained from supplying power to open the portal, and cannot maintain the release alone. In the maelstrom of ivory, he holds a hand to his inner hollow, and says in a voice of steely command, _Come_.

And his inner hollow howls in his internal world with a war-cry unlike any before, an animalistic scream of wrath and savagery, and merges with Ichigo's mind until they are two sides of the same whole, no, they are one being with an indomitable purpose, to rage against this serpent Aizen for pain inflicted on self and family in the future, in the past, in all of time. Ichigo is himself yet not himself, for the hollow is his reflection in a still mirror that captures the colour of the bloody sky and paints it in feral stripes across his face, until the mask in all his whiteness in a snarl of untamed fury.

Ichigo finishes drawing his hand across his face, and now the warm brown irises are gone, replaced by discs of reflective gold, and sclera the colour of midnight pitch.

The hollow grins with him. "_Hello_," his voice scrapes roughly, a dual echo of nightmare wanderings.

Aizen raises an eyebrow, lowering the forearm he has used to shield himself against the storm of reiatsu. "Very impressive, Ichigo-taic–"

The black tip of Zangetsu skewers the space where his head was a heartbeat before.

Aizen is forced to keep his mouth shut as he dances backwards, Kyoka Suigetsu flipping in his hand as he parries a vortex of strikes so fast they seem like a hail of vicious rain. The sound of their swords clashing fills the air with the metallic chime of patterned music.

And Ichigo dances a maddening, taunting beat, flickering like an incorporeal spirit across the sky, darting back and forth, coming in at an angle only to twist effortlessly on one sandal-tip and leap in capering arcs to strike from the opposite side. He blurs so fast that the colours of his shihakushuo and haori leave traces of whirling colour in his wake, pennants of wind and blinking shades half-drifting in the air.

Aizen is hemmed into one spot, changing stances and shifting weight to match the lightning strikes of Ichigo's blade, the smile on his face fading to a pressed line as his lips tighten involuntarily. His arm is a flying distortion, spinning Kyoka Suigetsu in wide circles of protection, barely managing to match Ichigo's speed. The warm glow behind his glasses is gone now, and the calculating, shrewd look that graces the face of Aizen Sousuke in Ichigo's memory is revealed.

Neither are fighting at their top form. Aizen is playing safe, defending but not attacking – not that he can, if he would try – bright gaze taking in every little detail of Ichigo's hollow form. Ichigo is considerably slower than usual, relying heavily on his inner hollow considering that Zangetsu is almost completely drained. He is still blindingly, awe-inspiringly fast, but not to the levels at which a single twitch of his sword could end the fight.

"Not bad, Ichigo-kun," Aizen says conversationally. "Is this your best? I have yet to even summon shikai."

The grating laughter of Ichigo and his hollow convulses the sky, seemingly coming from any or all directions at once, echoing in a twisting web constructed from Ichigo's ability to run far swifter than then pace of sound.

The answer to Aizen's question is strung in mocking tones that reverberate from all bearings. "_Do – you – want – to –_"

The last word is whispered almost directly behind Aizen, a ghostlike taunt, "_know_?"

And Aizen's smile mars his face like an open wound, as the captain twists his upper body, and with a single, smooth motion, drives Kyoka Suigetsu in a reverse grip in the gap between his arm and his ribcage, skewering the unsuspecting Ichigo in the chest –

The sword slides harmlessly off skin suddenly as hard as reinforced steel, skating a long, deep tear in shihakushuo, but leaving nary a scratch on Ichigo's skin.

Ichigo blinks to a safe distance, breathing heavily, black-blue reiatsu veins fading back into invisibility. He is unharmed, but the force of Aizen's blow has stunned him into momentary pause.

For the first time, Aizen's expression shows something resembling shock, although it is covered up by a condescending smirk a moment later. "Blut Vene," he says in a voice carrying a slight tinge of wonder. "The ultimate _Quincy_ defense. You have my complete and reverent admiration. What _are_ you, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

The question echoes Gin's, but a few hours ago. Ichigo tilts his head, features hidden behind the scowling mask. "My mother was a Quincy. And to answer your question, I am a human shinigami-Quincy hybrid that has undergone hollowification."

Aizen can barely keep the greedy glint out of his eyes. Here is the perfect specimen of the ultimate state of being – all the separate key creatures of the two worlds melded into one universal, _perfect_ individual. All his research into the powers of the Hogyoku could be culminated if he captures Ichigo completely in his sphere of power.

With that thought, Aizen flicks Kyoka Suigetsu in a graceful circle, murmuring, "Kudakero, Kyoka Suigetsu. Kanzen saimin." A wave of reiatsu shudders through the air, passing through Ichigo without jolting him. Aizen relaxes, smiling and looking in another direction.

Ichigo frowns. _What on earth?_ Why would Aizen suddenly slip out of his tense ready stance like that? And he is practically looking in the opposite direction than his opponent.

But a quick glance at Gin reveals the answer. Gin's eyes are flicking across a nonexistent figure in midair, and judging by the minuscule reactions in his stance and posture, he can both hear and see the apparition.

_Ah. Kyoka Suigetsu._ Aizen must be expecting him to fall under its spell.

A feral grin whiplashes across Ichigo's face, mirroring the smile on his mask. Without a second thought, he hurls himself at maximum speed at the real form of Aizen, Zangetsu held at full extension, the crimson light along its length craving a taste of blood.

Zangetsu nicks a deep cut down the inside of Aizen's forearm – Ichigo's insides twist in pleasure at seeing the serpent bleed – before Kyoka Suigetsu crashes into the sword with a terrifying screech of painful metal, flicking the black sword's scarlet-laced tip into the air.

Droplets of blood scatter in a suspended arc from Zangetsu's edge, and Ichigo smiles vehemently, for although he has defeated Aizen once before, he cannot recall ever seeing his lifeblood gouged out by a sword.

It is immensely, immensely satisfying.

Almost equally as gratifying is the look of outraged alarm on Aizen's features, as if the snake is _offended_ that his own shikai has failed on a shinigami.

Ichigo's inner hollow sticks his tongue out, laughing maniacally. Ichigo grins wider.

Then Aizen's infuriating façade is slammed back down, and he runs a finger over the wound on his arm, saying mildly, "So. You are immune to Kyoka Suigetsu."

Ichigo tilts his head without replying, as if saying, _obviously_.

Aizen adjusts his glasses, the sunlight glaring off their surface. "Well then, you force my hand, Kurosaki Ichigo. I might have to be a bit hard on you. My sincerest apologies."

Ichigo snorts. _Sincerity_ cannot be said with _Aizen_ in the same breath – along with a host of other traits, such as _humanity_. Nevertheless, he tenses, for his reiatsu reserves are so low, they cannot manage another use of Blut Vene. He has no last-ditch defense now. One slip, and he will taste death.

Ichigo sneaks a glance at the kneeling form of Rukia, far down below. She clutches Sode no Shirayuki between white-knuckled fingers, and her teeth are clenched in an unconquerable determination to break the cuffs on her wrists, channeling wave after wave of reiatsu into the manacles. Gin is not attacking her – whether by Aizen's order or due to his talk with him, Ichigo does not know.

_Boss? I'm getting sorta tired without Zangetsu's input. Can we, like, finish this up quick? I wanna mincemeat him, Boss, neh? _His inner hollow finishes with a whine-like snarl.

Ichigo turns smoothly on one foot, shifting his weight into a perfectly balanced stance. He wills all to be still, and for a single frozen moment, everything seems to fall silent, his mind an empty hollow where a hollow resides, his heart slowed to a steady pace of anticipation, his reiatsu a calm ocean drifting with the tide. Even the air appears to obey, and hangs motionless in half-awareness, a coiled spring hidden in the recesses of light and shadow, trailing lines of impossible, lithe power around sword and arm and white mask.

_Let's go._

And that wound-up power explodes like a detonation, as Ichigo simply disappears. He has reached speeds that no shinigami eye can follow, nor detect, hiding in the slipshod eddies of the wind, dancing in the dark where light cannot follow, slipping unheeded and silent where sound trails far in his wake.

Aizen twists, eyes scanning for a hint of Ichigo's location.

And Ichigo descends like fallen lightning, the air ablaze with his passing, a blinding flash of glorious darkness from the arc of the heavens to the flat plane of earth. _Getsuga Tenshou._

_Got you now._

In the timeless silence that is only filled with his inner hollow's glee and his own steady resolve, Ichigo sees a flash of grey and silver in his peripheral vision. Gin, standing at a distance, silhouetted against the dissolving light of the sun, is pulling out his own zanpakutuo, a sudden sneer of loathing pulling at his wide grin, eyes focused on – _on Rukia?_

No, something nonexistent in _front_ of Rukia. Ichigo cannot see anything there – just empty space. But Rukia's face is a haze of panic, also staring at the space, Sode no Shirayuki parrying sword strikes that do not exist –

Ichigo's breath catches. Neither Gin nor Rukia are immune to Kyoka Suigetsu.

And Gin hisses in a carrying whisper that flits through the surrounding sky like a silver-tipped arrow, "_I kill you now, Aizen, and you will never hurt Rangiku._"

Too late, Ichigo notices that the real Aizen is deftly twirling his fingers in the direction of the apparition that both Gin and Rukia are fixated on, manipulating a phantom image of himself directly in front of Rukia. Gin's face is defiled in pure hatred as he unsheathes his zanpakutuo and whiplashes it towards what he thinks is Aizen, his sword disappearing into dust and slicing towards –

Rukia.

The horror rises acidic in Ichigo's throat, and his heart throbs with sharp, agonizing terror. His blood roars, pounding a drumbeat into his temples and flooding his vision with frazzled static, a blind rush of frantic desperation that drowns everything in his soul. There is nothing but the sight of imminent death reflected in Rukia's round eyes, and her still, small frame crouched at the edge of the cliff, Gin's sword shattered into a million shards of poison dust all rushing towards that pale, heart-shaped face.

For a brief moment, Ichigo glimpses an image of a new gravestone next to a worn one, both labeled _Kuchiki_…

No. _Rukia._

And Ichigo, still rushing downwards, twists in midair and tears towards a different spot of earth, like a lightning strike grounding itself where its heart yearns for.

He might make it. No, he _will_ make it. He will.

Aizen's broad, mocking grin rips a hole in his sight as he rushes past him.

Fifty metres. Thirty. Ten.

_Rukia._

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

Rukia had forced herself to concentrate on breaking the cuffs to the exclusion of all else, ignoring the clashing of steel against steel and the familiar rushes of air that she knows is Ichigo's high-powered shunpo. Every drop of her remaining reiatsu was poured into her wrists, and beads of sweat trickled down her hairline as she gritted her teeth against the pain and made the reiatsu cuffs nearly _glow_ with her energy.

One thing she knew, Ichigo hadn't been kidding about the pain.

But it was necessary, because Ichigo was fighting alone, with Zangetsu barely capable of keeping in bankai form. Impressive as his inner hollow was, Rukia knew that it was incapable of holding a long, drawn out fight.

So she had burned her wrists and her power on a pyre, trying to crack the manacles that prevented her from leaping into the air as a fukutaichou assisting her taichou.

It hadn't been enough. She just couldn't reach the peak spike of power that Ichigo had. _I'm sorry_, Sode no Shirayuki said, _I can't give you any more, not with you in this state._

And then the air had shifted, and suddenly _Aizen_ was between her and the stationary Gin, and Ichigo was nowhere to be seen. And the glasses-wearing captain had almost lazily drawn his zanpakutuo, raining elegant slashes of his blade upon her, taunting her with her weakness.

And then Gin had hissed something she didn't understand, and suddenly his zanpakutuo disappeared from hilt onwards, towards Aizen's back. She had barely any time to wonder why _Gin_ was attacking Aizen, before the captain before her had wavered like a watery reflection, fading into nothing.

_Kyoka Suigetsu._

And Rukia feels a gigantic force of _something_ homing in towards her from Gin's direction, a million buzzing motes of dust, and she realises with a little jolt that Gin hadn't had time to retract his sword strike towards "Aizen".

Towards her.

_Oh._ In that eyeblink before her death reaches her, Rukia feels a tide of self-hatred flood her being. _So this is the end._ She hasn't helped Ichigo, she hasn't drawn blood from Aizen for herself, she hasn't seen her Nii-sama for one last time and told him that she had forgiven him long ago for his coldness back then. _Useless._ She hopes that Ichigo isn't disappointed with this, last, failure. She would miss him. Terribly, terribly so. _I'm sorry._

The sword-shard-tide has come.

Then ragged silk, black and white and red, shielding her from half the sky.

She frowns. She had thought, childishly, that death should be more…black.

Then gentle fingers stroke her chin, fingertips cold enough to be drops of ice, shocking her back into herself.

And she looks up, into a feral mask of white streaked with red, and gold irises.

The mask speaks in an injured rasp, like a gasp of breath. "Are you –"

Then the visor cracks in two, and shatters, falling, tumbling to the ground, and irises are gold no more, but warm brown, soft, pained, concerned, _Ichigo_.

"– all right, Rukia?"

She can only nod numbly, her cheek fitting perfectly in the hand that cups the side of her face, not understanding how he had gotten there fast enough to push her out of the way. She hadn't _felt_ like she had moved from her spot. And why are his fingers so cold?

Then Ichigo chokes, and a thin line of crimson trails out of one corner of his mouth, bright scarlet like the setting sun and the oft-spoken thread of fate that links soul with soul.

Still, he smiles that infuriating smile that makes her want to hit him and laugh at the same time. "Good," he murmurs, "good."

And Rukia raises a trembling hand to wipe the sudden redness away with one glove, but her nails run into the steel of a blade. A grey swordtip, protruding out of Ichigo's chest. Zangetsu lies loose in his hand, to one side.

_Oh._

"Ichi – Ichigo –"

Then the portal behind them resonates, once, like the great tolling of a bell.

Ichigo's hand shakes, and falls from Rukia's cheek. Rukia catches it before it hits the dirt, pressing her other hand to his chest. "Thanks, Rukia," Ichigo breathes, another line of scarlet running down his chin. His eyes are slowly drifting shut, hiding that steady brown gaze. She can feel his heart beating.

And suddenly, Rukia remembers the rain on grass, and blood slick and dripping from her hands to the ground, and the moonless sky overhead, and the feeling of Kaien-dono's heart faltering and stilling and _fading…_

Ichigo's heart quavers under her palm, and she feels the wetness of blood running through her fingers.

Her own heart is going to burst. She can't speak, can't think, can't breathe.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sode no Shirayuki inclines her head, and speaks reverently. _You are ready. I give you the power you need. Avenge him._

Rukia closes her eyes and screams as her zanpakutuo roars white.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The cavernous high-ceilinged room within the depths of the Twelfth Division laboratories is no longer empty and sonorous, despite its size. For the lights, blinking and shimmering in row upon row upon the thrumming morass that is the machine, throw leaping shadows of not only wires and equipment, but the outlines of dozens of shihakushuo and haori.

Mayuri and Urahara's hands fly over the assorted flashing controls, the black-and-white faced captain murmuring intelligible scientific gibberish under his breath, his excitement at the workings of such a great invention showing in his jumpy skips from one interface to another. Urahara is more sedate, brow furrowed under the shade of his striped hat as his eyes track the never-ending length of dials that spin under a mass of energy readings.

Ten feet beside them, a whirling, tumbling portal hangs suspended in space, edges electric blue, spinning into a dark emptiness that flashes with surges of lightning.

"The portal is holding relatively steady, I think…" Urahara says to the room at large, an edge of seriousness underlying his singsong voice.

Assembled directly in front of the portal is Seireitei's elite. Shiba Isshin is at the forefront, bouncing eagerly on his toes, unable to shake his readiness to see his son again. He had just finished shouting a lengthy rant to Ichigo on the other end about his darlings' soon-to-be graduation from the academy.

"Neh, Urahara-san," he calls out, "are you sure that it's normal that we can't hear my son's reply?"

Urahara throws him a look over his shoulder as his fingers twist a switch, hat obscuring half his face. "I'm mostly sure, Isshin-san. Last time we made a connection, I couldn't hear Ichigo-taichou's words, but he had obviously heard us – if the paper message he sent through is anything to go by."

The mention of the note chills the atmosphere almost immediately. Ichigo's message had been scrawled in hurried handwriting.

_Reiatsu cuffs. He knows. Be ready._

A smooth, cold voice cuts in. Kuchiki Byakuya, hair pulled back in silver-grey clasps that are the same colour as his eyes. "To clarify, Urahara-san, you have no real way of knowing definitively Kurosaki-taichou and my sister's current operational status?"

The hall awaits, silenced. Clustered in a small group are the strongest of Seiretei's captains and vice-captains – Kyouraku-soutaichou, flowery haori belted tightly in preparation for battle, eye patch sombre; Ukitake, face glowing with the first hint of health since an age, having taken a new and revolutionary treatment for his lung disease; Renji, a furious, worried scowl on his face, hair tied back in a high ponytail, fingering Zabimaru distractedly; Matsumoto, head shadowed by her vivid hair, her eyes lost in the past, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

And behind them, the assembled Visored, predatory in their gaze and stance, every hand on their zanpakutuo. Hirako Shinji's blonde hair swings like a pendulum over his shadowed eyes as he taps his nails on his zanpakutuo hilt. Hiyori had already kicked him hard, twice, with the flat of her sandal for making the annoying noise, but even his fukutaichou's actions had not quelled the look of dark revenge on the usually breezy captain's face. In fact, all eight of the Visored wear grim expressions, as they contemplate the idea of one of their own caught in Aizen's trap.

Urahara turns to face Byakuya, meeting his eyes levelly before answering the question. "No, I do not, Kuchiki-taichou," he says softly. "We cannot know their status until we go through ourselves."

Byakuya nods once, sharply, his face an emotionless mask. Only Renji can see the turmoil brewing in those storm-grey eyes.

Kyouraku clears his throat, striding forward to face the crowd. His haori whips around him in the generated airstream of the portal. "Hello," he begins quietly. His voice is low, but hard as steel. "Thank you for coming here today. You have all been briefed before this moment, but I want to make something clear. Kurosaki Ichigo and Kuchiki Rukia are invaluable shinigami of Seireitei. We owe them our lives, several times over. I have no doubt that you are as determined in this as I, if not more. They are also our friends and comrades – and to some, sister, and son. We _will _come back today bringing them with us, alive."

Ukitake takes over at this point, green eyes grave. "I am sure you are all clear as to protocol. Aizen is _not_, I repeat, _not_, to be killed. His death, though welcome, would change the timeline irrevocably." He gestures towards a small group of shinigami without fukutaichou badges or haoris. "Please take your positions, seated officers."

These shinigami are all young, showing signs of recently joining divisions. There is something markedly different about the way they stand and hold their zanpakutuos, speaking of less experience. These men have not gone to war.

Shinji lifts his head and speaks for the first time, to this group. "You are our eyes and ears," he says, voice calm. "Aizen's Kyoka Suigetsu is infallible. There is no escape, save if one has not seen its release. You young seated officers were chosen for this reason. You are all the brightest graduates from the shinigami academy in the past four years. Your sight is unmarred by Kyoka Suigetsu. I will be clear on one thing – if your eyes fail, so does ours. Your captains and vice-captains are blind, officers. You are _instrumental_. Do not fail us."

"YES, _sir_!" comes the concerted reply. Many members of this group shift from foot to foot nervously as they reach their allocated partners, taichou or fukutaichou.

Urahara clicks his fingers, a sharp _crack_ in the still air. "Good luck," he says. "The portal should be ready momentarily."

The room fills with the sound of shifting cloth as the shinigami train their postures into ready stances. Isshin and Byakuya unsheathe Engetsu and Senbonzakura, standing shoulder to shoulder at the front of the column, right next to the gateway.

And then the portal shudders, shivering, the concussion shaking the walls and flinging dust off the ceiling.

"What –" Isshin calls out, flailing for balance.

"Is that expected, Urahara?" Byakuya says almost at the same time.

Urahara's eyes are wide. "The portal is trying to collapse – I think the original power source on the other side has suddenly cut off."

_The original power source?_

"Ichigo," Isshin breathes, a painful word hissed through his teeth.

Byakuya does not waste a single moment, although his heart also leaps in alarm. They have no way of knowing Rukia's condition. He throws himself bodily at the portal, and feels Isshin and their two assigned seated officers do the same.

All is lost in a whirl of cerulean and sable.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The first thing that Kuchiki Byakuya hears as he emerges from the non-space of the gateway into a crimson sunset is the sound of his sister screaming.

The cry is a sound of rage, pain, and plaintive, soul-wrenching grief.

Byakuya flinches, the sound cutting into his soul like a white-hot knife. Even when Hisana had reached the peak of her agony while under the disease that ultimately took her life, she did not shriek in such abject anguish. All at once, he abandons any pretense of cold placidity, determined to do _anything_ to stop his sister's cry. He shunpos into the air, hair streaming in a pennant behind him.

The sight engraves itself in streaks of crimson and black paint scarred upon his consciousness. Kurosaki Ichigo lies crumpled in a limp heap, face hidden under his shihakushuo sleeve, scarlet slowly seeping from a hole in his back, a spreading pool that drenches his pristine haori in blood. In front of him, eyes large and round on her pale face, is his keening sister, on her hands and knees, white gloves soaked in Ichigo's blood.

In her hand is Sode no Shirayuki. It burns with a clarity never before seen, shining with a pure luminance that shames even sunlight glinting off a new snowfall. The sword pulses, flickering brighter, each crest of light more dazzling.

A high, cold voice, deathly familiar, from above. "Now, Gin, don't look so surprised. Did you think I didn't know you had defected the moment you walked into my office after letting Ichigo-kun go? You are an open book." Aizen's smile is cutting. Beside him, Gin stares at the blood-tainted tip of his zanpakutuo, ice-blue eyes visible and wide. Aizen's smile grows wider. "I owe you my thanks for getting rid of our chief problem."

A surge of fury that threatens to overwhelm Senbonzakura rushes through Byakuya's chest, and his zanpakutuo shakes in his hand.

Then Rukia's scream changes tenor, and all at once, Sode no Shirayuki cracks from tip to hilt, the snow-white shell of the blade splitting like a ripped curtain, and the maginitude of light that blasts out of cracks is devastating, shining brighter than the noonday sun.

Rukia curls inwards, head bowed over her clasped hands, sword next to her heart. "Bankai," she whispers, her voice carrying faintly to Byakuya's ears.

And her very being shines with tongues of white fire.

* * *

**Now, you may all hate me. Is the cliffie worse than last chapter? I suppose your consolation is that I'm already beginning the next chapter, and writing away :) I'm sure that you are all waiting for what Rukia's bankai looks like. I'm going to throw every single iota of kickbutt-ness into it. It's time for her to take her time beating up some people after being locked away for so long. Yup, looking forward to it :)**

**Review please! If only to come after me with machetes :)**

**Replies to guest reviews:**

**ZeroRose90: Haha, there's your answer! Some good stuff is coming for Rukia. Thanks for reviewing :)**

**Guest: Why thank you! And you got what you wished for! I have to say that I had planned the captains coming through thing since ages, so your review made me laugh, cause I was doing that already :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**This is two and a half hours late. But, I have a very good explanation. ****I worked from ten to five for three days this week, got a vaccination, took a trip to my twin sister's uni twice to get stuff there for her, went on a shopping trip to get her necessities, and packed for a four-day camp next week. I literally almost killed myself getting this chapter out. Plus, it's 9000 words. So I hope you guys are okay with the minor delay :)**

**Thanks to reviewers: , Daedricdragon, laughingspider, KJC2025, Sunart, Guest, DLC2094, sulli-ssi, Phantom Claire, JTiberiusKirk, MerryKitten, EverMindTheRuleOfThree, poooy200, The Unknown ShiniGami, brialees, BleachFreak16, ilovebks, Guest, Darkness9825, Guest, MugetsuIchigo, Ethyrin Kairos, uzuki-chan, GhibliGirl91, Kireina-Ame, Mtmeye, ImSeriousBro, NarutoLuver896, mypupps1, The10Espada99, NobodyEpic, Chirpy Hitomi chan, AmandaaC, Orange3WhiteSkew, Miyo86, blades of blood488, Debido, Tsuki no Yukihime.**

**I don't own except the plot.**

**IMPORTANT: There are many typos here. I know. But I typed FAST. And my beta is now in her uni campus. So she couldn't read it. I know cause I spent a lot of my time on her behalf (see above) :) So don't judge the typos, neh?**

* * *

_Rukia's scream changes tenor, and all at once, Sode no Shirayuki cracks from tip to hilt, the snow-white shell of the blade splitting like a ripped curtain, and the magnitude of light that blasts out of cracks is devastating, shining brighter than the noonday sun._

_Rukia curls inwards, head bowed over her clasped hands, sword next to her heart. "Bankai," she whispers, her voice carrying faintly to Byakuya's ears._

_And her very being shines with tongues of white fire._

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

It is very nearly night now.

The vast majority of the sky is velvet sable, a burial shroud of darkness, starless, moonless, black. The western edge of the horizon remains afire with scarlet, the last call of a dying sun. The crimson light bathes Sokyoku hill in vivid, liquid red, illuminating the whirling portal, the figures in the air and on the ground, and the fukutaichou kneeling at the side of her fallen taichou, whose haori is drenched with the dual stain of blood and sunset.

Kuchiki Rukia screams.

Byakuya winces at the portentous _throb_ of reiatsu.

And the world turns silver and tarnished white, an explosion of biting cold that freezes their breath instantaneously into hundreds of droplets of ice that are caught in one, endless whirlwind of snow and hail and fiery frigidity, and Byakuya dimly thinks that he is _burning_ in the cold, Senbonzakura dancing to enclose himself along with Isshin and their two seated officers in a shield of pink, roaring in a protective shield against what must be a thousand splintered needles.

_The first bankai release is inexpressibly important._

Bankai is the highest achievement, technically, that any shinigami can reach. It is the pinnacle of unity between shinigami and zanpakutuo; both souls merged into one with a single forging of glorious power. The first use of bankai dictates the level of power that will follow from that time onwards. Kurosaki Ichigo's bankai was cemented in a frantic duel for Rukia's survival, matched only by his anger at Byakuya's coldness towards his sister; Abarai Renji's bankai similarly went through a trial of fire, fighting tooth and claw for much the same reason.

By the looks of it, Rukia's bankai could be forged in far greater rage and pain than the both of them combined.

The storm of ice is immbolizing – Byakuya doubts that even Aizen and Gin, somewhere above them, could move in the burning cold. All they can do is try to breathe, and wait for the gales to calm.

As quickly as the gust started, all falls deadly silent as the snow and ice is sucked into a blistering cocoon that forms in a sphere around Rukia. The winds are strong enough to lift her off her feet, but only her silhouette can be seen through the nearly opaque rush of flurried white.

Rukia's shadowed image raises her head.

Then the ice falls into nothingness like a dropped curtain, a forgotten mantle flung aside to reveal its treasure.

Byakuya draws a sharp breath.

Rukia remains lifted upon a crest of wind, her limbs featherlight upon the sentinent air that is servant to her will. She is no longer garbed simply in shihakushuo, for around her shoulders drapes a resplendent cloak of shimmering incandescence, cloth yet not cloth, for it flows and ripples like running water, and dances upon an unseen current in the air. The robe pools around her slim frame, swathing her in an ethereal glow, flickering with a glassy half-transparency that speaks of liquid diamond. And on Rukia's head is a stunning crown of gilded snow and ice, glossy tendrils framing her hair, honing into beautiful twists at her brow and sharpening at the tips into a tumult of elegant yet deadly spikes.

She is magnificent. She looks like a queen.

But there is more.

Her eyelashes glitter with frost, and her eyes are themselves covered with a sheen of mirrored ice, covering irises and pupils in a reflectivxe gleam.

_How can she see?_

The answer provides itself in the next moment, for Rukia steps forwards in a smooth pace of almost dancing grace, and lifts her right arm, revealing the bankai form of Sode no Shirayuki. The sword is now crafted of sculpted ice, completely transparent except for a winding ornamental trail of pure white ivory that encases the guard and twines down the length of the blade. As the sword rises to eye level, the blade shivers once, in anticipation.

And the _atmosphere_ shivers with it.

It is not the same as Ichigo's bankai. Zangetsu often creates bursts of power great enough to concuss air; but here, it is as if the air itself is part of Sode no Shirayuki.

Byakuya feels Rukia's reiatsu _everywhere_ – he is literally breathing it, and exhaling clouds of frosty breath in the cold.

_She has no need to see._ He suspects that her mind at the moment is half-merged with Sode no Shirayuki, acting on the instincts of her zanpakutuo spirit rather than her own will. She would not look as calm if left to her own devices, considering how she screamed over Ichigo's fallen form.

Above, Aizen shrinks back in similar alarm, sensing that all is not well. He shunpos away from Gin to give himself space, and spins Kyoka Suigetsu in two large arcs, murmuring his shikai activation phrase under his breath.

A reiatsu wave thuds through the air as reality rearranges itself to Aizen's will. Byakuya stands closer to his allocated seated officer, within hearing distance, to better differentiate between image and truth.

But it is not needed.

Because as the reiatsu wave spreads, Rukia's head snaps up in Aizen's direction, and Sode no Shirayuki draws a clean cut through the air.

And the sky freezes. Every miniscule drop of water in the atmosphere turns to droplets of hail and thunders with Rukia's reiatsu, blitzing towards Aizen's wave and overwhelming it by sheer mass and weight, obliterating Kyoka Suigetsu's power from every direction.

For an instant, Byakuya sees double as he views both the doppelganger and the real figure of Aizen, and then all falls under the blistering hail of Rukia's bankai.

Dimly, he registers Isshin and his follower break away towards Ichigo's prone form, now having confirmed that his son's condition is not a trick of Kyoka Suigetsu.

Byakuya abruptly realises that the burning cold is no longer surrounding him or his follower. Instead, the air is being sucked dry of moisture, all water flying towards Rukia's single target – Aizen. Kyoka Suigetsu has fallen because Rukia's bankai is not sensory in the normal sense of the word; it relies on _reiatsu_ alone.

_So that was the function of the initial explosion._

The first storm of white that spread over five kilometres in breadth was not an uncontrolled burst. It had been an extension of the shikai _Some no mai, Tsukishiro_ – instead of her power extending to all the area covered by a sweep of her blade, all areas touched by simply her reiatsu becomes her playing ground. It is also a preliminary scan of opponents – her zanpakutuo had identified ally from foe, and mobilized all power to concentrate on enemy only.

The air is her servant. Her bankai is powerful enough to rival Yamamoto's Ryuujin Jakka, except it sets the air on fire with ice instead of flame. It is also interesting how Gin was not identified as an enemy.

A swell of sudden pride emerges in Byakuya's chest, even though it remains swamped with worry. As he watches, the icy cloud surrounding Aizen tightens, although it does not collapse, probably due to a defensive maneuver on Aizen's part.

Then, Rukia flips her sword over in her hand, and rends the air with precise slashes, drawing Sode no Shirayuki over empty space. Over a hundred metres away, the air sharpens, and forms into a great mass of heaving ice spikes, each double-edged with scintillating fury, every deadly point aimed at Aizen. And as she flicks her sword-tip, the cloud of icy razors changes direction on a whim, a thousand gigantic buzzing hornets painted red by the sun.

Byakuya feels like the air has been squeezed out of lungs. It almost looks like Senbonzakura. Rukia's bankai honours her Nii-sama's.

Aizen leaps in cavorting bounds all over the sky, just eluding the grasp of a wintry coffin. His zanpakutuo knocks away the few spikes that do make it within striking distance. But his teeth are set in an angry grimace, and Byakuya knows why. At that shunpo speed, Aizen will tire relatively quickly. He no longer has defense in Kyoka Suigetsu. In five minutes, Rukia will win this game of cat and mouse.

Byakuya shunpos until he is directly below Rukia, following the fight with well-honed eyes. "_Chire, Senbonzakura,_" he whispers. He feels his zanpakutuo scatter into a cloud of pink, and he wills it to flow in meandering rivers about his feet, ready to intervene and shield Rukia if needed. He brutally reins in his overwhelming inclination to rush in and send Senbonzakura to intercept Aizen, finishing the entire thing so he can carry her to sure safety. At Rukia's current power level, it would be more efficient to allow her to manage the attack alone.

Unexpectedly, a familiar reiatsu signature, only weaker, appears at the boundary of his senses on the eastern edge of the cliff, the opposite side to the portal.

_Abarai?_

No, not the Renji he knows. This one looks distinctly awkward in his shinigami shihakushuo, holds Zabimaru – unsheathed – in a basic grip, and sports a head of shorter hair. A rookie. Renji stops like a cat in headlights, staring dumbstruck at the sight of Rukia clothed in ice and snow.

In the next second, Byakuya meets this younger Renji's eyes. The abject fear and reverence that he sees there is a bit disconcerting. His fukutaichou had long waned his hero-worship into a sort of sarcastic respect, and an understanding of mutual reliance in battle. This one, conversely, looks like a child.

But before anything can be communicated in their shared gaze, a new signature that, if anything, is even more familiar – to an unsettling level – appears close behind the younger Renji.

Byakuya had steeled himself for the possibility of meeting his younger self before he entered the portal, but still the feeling of his _own_ reiatsu washing over him is extremely uncomfortable. It is almost like viewing oneself out of one's own body, a detached spirit floating away. And this younger Byakuya's reiatsu is quite a bit weaker than his own. Still formidable, but less so. _ So this is what a war does to a shinigami_, he thinks grimly.

The younger Byakuya is clothed not in shihakushuo and haori, but in a well-embroidered formal kimono, complete with the crest of the Kuchiki clan etched in delicate thread, kenseikan, and a refined look of annoyance on his face. Clan business, then.

The gazes of both Byakuyas fall each other at the same time. The younger version glances upwards at Rukia's suspended form, and his lips thin harshly. "Cease immediately, Kuchiki Rukia," he calls out imperiously. "You are attacking a respected captain of Seireitei, and bring shame to our clan."

The crowned Rukia continues in her persecution of Aizen, ice-covered eyes unblinking. She does not show any sign of having heard him.

At that moment, Byakuya, standing below Rukia, feels an upsurge of peculiar self-hatred. He had been like that, once. His softened attitude to Rukia in the past decade had been partly in recompense for the horridly cold way he had treated her before, when every glance at her face reminded him painfully of his Hisana. Now, he briefly wonders with a wry flick of an eyebrow whether his present desire to teach this younger self a lesson can be classified as self-harm. Probably. He doesn't care. No one speaks to Rukia like that. Not even himself.

He sees his younger self frown dangerously, moving a hand, and reads the movement in a flash. _No._ Byakuya takes a single step forward and gestures with both gloved hands in an elegant circle, the first form of a delicate kata. Simultaneously, his younger self brandishes his own Senbonzakura and sends the crest of pink towards Rukia, not to harm, but to push her towards the ground.

The two rushing storms of silvery-pink shards meet with a resounding roar, much like two waterfalls meeting in midair, each striving for dominance. The sound of their struggle is grating yet subtle, on one hand, the clash of a raging battle, on the other, the chiming of a thousand wind chimes as the pieces clash individually.

Their eyes meet again, steel iron against stormy grey.

"Why do you do this?" the younger Byakuya queries, tilting his head, kenseikan glowing dimly in the light.

Byakuya gives a "_hn_," flicking his wrist to maintain Senbonzakura's attack. "Because you pointed a sword at my pride," he says quietly.

And with that, something unspoken passes between them, as both gazes harden as one. The younger Byakuya steps forward, hands flinging his sword's shards into high velocity, expression grim. Byakuya flows into a seamless advance, hands curving into form after form like the silent steps of a kata, pacing from one foot to the next as his hair fans out behind him, and each stance dances and runs into the next, like falling water scattering into a thousand raindrops.

The other Byakuya frowns sharply, struggling to keep up as he conforms to rigid sequences that had previously served him well in sparring. He had never run into an opponent capable of putting such pressure on Senbonzakura before.

Byakuya laughs internally, a bitter echo in his mind. Here is an example of his own hubris, the shameless arrogance ingrained into his blood that had shaped his actions like a polished shell until the day he met a true genius, a ryoka boy who trounced him soundly with a bankai learned in three days. _There are things in the world that you have not seen_, he thinks to his other self.

And so he leaps from foot to foot, an endless waltz governed by the rhythms of Senbonzakura as the sword-shards meet the petals of his opponent's zanpakutuo, forcing the other Senbonzakura into an ever-tighter corner. Every attack by the other Byakuya is ruthlessly countered.

The other Byakuya is breathing slightly heavier now, disbelief etched on his features. He has not tried bankai. Byakuya knows why – for if he is outclassed in shikai, how will he fare in bankai?

On the side, Renji keeps a safe distance, following the attack with an expression of terrified wonder. His dream is to outclass Kuchiki-taichou. If this taichou from the future is crushing the current one so easily, he has a hard time imagining ever being able to match him. And Rukia, gloriously shrouded in frost and icy fire, bankai thundering with power – how can he ever live up to that, he doesn't know.

In the sky, Aizen is slowing, the shivering ice spikes touching the hem of his haori, ripping holes in the edge like growling teeth. Rukia's cloak flies and shimmers, flinging out in sweeping arcs of iridescence as she gestures with Sode no Shirayuki. But she too is slowing, her limited reiatsu draining away.

Behind them, the portal convulses yet again, and spits out a whole plethora of shadowed figures seemingly at once. Leading the pack is Abarai Renji, a battle-scowl already firmly in place, and Zabimaru roaring into bankai the instant his sandals touch the ground. His assigned seated officer can barely keep up as he takes in the scene with one glance – eyes lingering on the white Rukia for a moment longer – and shunpos immediately to his captain's aid.

After Renji, the Visored land in battle formation with predatory grace, haori and fukutaichou badges gleaming, Shinji at the head. Matsumoto follows a half-second later, shoulders tense and curved inwards. She looks up, skimming the sky, and latches upon silver hair gleaming. She is gone in a flash of shunpo.

By this time, Byakuya has his opponent's Senbonzakura locked in a death cage, suppressing but not crushing, struggling against his younger self's reiatsu. He glances back at the Visored, and gives his fukutaichou a pointed look.

"Hai, taichou!" Renji answers, understanding perfectly and dashing past him towards the younger Byakuya. They pass each other without any more acknowledgment, their silent communication born of years of shared battle. As Renji reaches the cloud of two Senbonzakuras, Byakuya retracts his zanpakutuo with a sharp twist of his fingers, turning towards Rukia.

The younger Renji's eyes could be compared to the kitchen matron's largest dinner plates. Himself. Fukutaichou under Byakuya. With bankai. He doesn't know whether to feel ridiculously happy with himself or slaver in jealousy.

Renji reaches striking distance of the younger Byakuya, and forces himself to think, _not my taichou_. He has to strike without hesitation. Zabimaru is alive in his hand with trembling anticipation, and he gives in to that excitement, flinging Zabimaru's snakelike hooks at the steel-eyed captain with a war cry.

The look on the other Byakuya's face shows his contempt as he brings Senbonzakura almost lazily at him. Renji grins, and within an eyeblink, he flickers out of the pink cloud's reach, zigzagging across the dust towards a better angle for Zabimaru. His speed rivals his captain's by now, and on a good day, he reckons it is better. _I'll show you, Kuchiki Byakuya_, he thinks gleefully as Zabimaru howls in its chase.

Meanwhile, Byakuya, in allowing Renji to pursue his younger self, races lightly to stop right underneath Rukia. _She cannot keep this up much longer_, he thinks. Considering the arrival of the Visored, it would be better to let them take over, and bring Rukia back to safety. But it looks unwise to approach Rukia, who is hovering in midair – the air around her seems to be on guard for attack.

And so Byakuya chooses the safest of all routes. He does what he has been longing to do since he first stepped through the portal. He calls out to her, softly, gently. "Rukia."

She falters, ice-covered eyes searching for something.

"Rukia. We have to go home now. Will you come with me?"

And she shivers, small shoulders shaking, and suddenly she is falling like a dropped stone, silvery cloak wrapping around her like a barrier. The ice shards after Aizen melt into nothing.

Byakuya darts forward, and catches her small form, his arms holding her securely. The moment she comes to a stop, the bankai coat fades, and the ice crown melts into her hair, leaving only a light dusting of frost in the black strands.

"Nii-sama…" Rukia whispers, ice-eyes shattering back into violet, half-lidded from exhaustion. She rests her face against his haori, limp.

Byakuya marvels with a touch of alarm at how unhealthily light she is. She is small, yes, but the burns on her wrists exacerbate just how thin she now is. His heart clenches. "Come," he says lightly, and shunpos towards the portal.

Her small hand bunches in his haori. "Ichigo." She murmurs, turning her head frantically in search for him.

"He'll be fine," Byakuya says shortly. He shunpos towards the gateway without another word, acutely aware of Isshin kneeling next to his son but a short distance away, and the breadth of that pool of blood.

Rukia doesn't answer. Byakuya runs quicker, throwing them into the portal, and towards Unohana and her medical team.

And surging like a river parting around them, tearing towards Aizen, is the Visored, not even slowing to nod their heads at Byakuya and Rukia's passing. Every face is the same, a mask of hatred that rivals the sneer of each of their hollow masks. Shinji is in the lead, zanpakutuo already glowing in his palm, and Hiyori is only a half-step behind, growling in her eagerness for blood.

Aizen is surprisingly immobile, half kneeling in midair and struggling to breathe. Shinji narrows his eyes as he comes to a stop a short distance away, allowing the assembled Visored to fall into formation beside him. Eight zanpakutuos are bathed red in the light. Aizen coughs, suddenly, and a splatter of red dribbles from his mouth.

Shinji smiles delightedly. So. Rukia had done more than send a hailstorm of ice after him. Her reiatsu had pervaded the air itself, and Aizen, serpent and monster as he is, does need to breathe.

_Rukia sent particles of her reiatsu into his lung tissue, and refroze them into spikes._

Lovely. Beside him, Hiyori laughs out loud, tossing her head back harshly. She has reached the same conclusion.

_Well, this gives us some time for a proper introduction._ Tilting his head so that his fringe clears from his eyes, Shinji gives the Visored a sweeping look. Hiyori. Rojurou. Mashiro. Love. Lisa. Hachigen. Kensei.

He flicks his fingers in a hidden signal, and the eight sink into mocking half-bows, their derisive contempt and hate reflected across their postures.

"Our long-awaited greetings," he calls out sardonically. He completes it with a little twitch of a two-fingered salute. "We have come to pay back what is due."

Aizen raises his head, still folded over in pain. He manages to scrape together an imitation of his past scorn, brown eyes flickering dangerously over the group. "Hirako Shinji. It's a pleasure, I must say. I take it you didn't like what you experienced the last time we met?" His hand slowly creeps towards Kyoka Suigetsu. "I never really had time back then to ask you how you felt – you were too busy screaming."

Shinji's smile has a morbidly pleased twist to it, as he wastes no more time in sweeping his sword to the side and raising a hand to his face. He feels a rustle of air on both sides as his friends and comrades lean into crouches, copying his movement.

He looks Aizen straight in the eye. "I give you –"

Eight hands claw away their human visages, revealing white-faced masks of savage power, hiding skin away under the shield that is their shared blood and inheritance.

All their voices come together, a grating rasp of sawing roughness, their words resonant in the near twilight. "– the Visored."

And the eight rush forward as one, a veritable tsunami of echoing, thundering power, only barely keeping to the regulation formation, so eager they are to see Aizen's blood.

The shockwave from eight hollowfied taichou and fukutaichou entering shikai simultaneously turns half the sky into a mottled patchwork of competing reiatsu, a ragged, eight-petaled flower blossoming in an ever-increasing expanse, with Aizen at its center.

Mashiro, by far the fastest of them all, reaches Aizen first and twists into a sweeping kick aimed at his feet, her green hair whipping into a streamlined tail behind her.

Aizen flips backwards, missing the two antennae-like strands of her fringe by centimetres while trying to draw Kyoka Suigetsu, wiping the trail of blood from his mouth with a snarl.

"Don't let him –" Shinji snaps the order, but the rest of the Visored are already nearly upon Aizen, pressuring him relentlessly. They cannot afford for him to draw his zanpakutuo and activate shikai, and the only way that they can assure this is to throw themselves at him from all directions, and force him to dodge instead of draw his sword.

Rojurou flings his hand out, and with an ethereal score of musical notes, his zanpakutuo stretches into a pure gold chain, spiked tip encircling around Aizen and reining in the captain's shunpo. Finding his path blocked, Aizen drops a dozen feet, trying to evade the attack from below.

A crackle and snap, and a roaring _ken'atsu_ that precedes a warming current on one side of his face. Aizen barely has time to duck before Love's shikai release, a gigantic fireball of orange flame that singes the frame of his glasses and sears itself into his retinas.

Then a rising of wind, an unnatural shift in the atmosphere, Kensei's threads of air weaving through Rojurou's firestream, oxygen combusting with a _pop _and magnifying it ten times in breadth. The resulting explosion clears a cloudless channel in the stratosphere, all water and moisture burned up in the rage of red.

The Visored retreat slightly, to the edge of the storm. Shinji holds his hand out horizontally in a gesture to _wait_.

A shadow on the eastern edge of the dying fire, and in an eyeblink, Shinji bears down upon the slightly tattered Aizen, whose haori is burnt along the bottom hem.

Aizen looks up, reflexes unscathed, and hisses, "A straight-on attack? Do you think _this_ low of me?" He dodges to the left –

And a long trailing scarlet cut opens on his right collarbone, a match to the angry wound put on his arm by Ichigo. Shinji's sword sings with the taste of blood, even as he is joined by the rest of the Visored. "My shikai has interesting properties, if you would be bothered to remember," Shinji says, smirking. The mirrored zanpakutuo is capable of confusing his opponent to think that he is attacking from the complete opposite direction.

Before Aizen even has a chance to recover from the blow, the Visored swarm forward as one. As Hiyori swings her serrated zanpakutuo with a bloodcurdling roar at Aizen's head, Shinji uses the distraction provided by his teammates to scan the battlefield. As satisfying as it is to batter Aizen to a pulp, they are here to ensure that Ichigo and Rukia make it back safely, and for Urahara to implement his plan. _Rukia went back with Byakuya…_

_Where's Ichigo?_

Far below, some distance from the portal, a father crouches over his dying son.

The moment that Isshin had heard Urahara proclaim that the portal's destabilization had to do with Ichigo's reiatsu, he had hurled himself into the portal, a white blankness settling over his mind and heart, a terror that he had not felt since the day he sensed his dear Masaki falter on a rain-drenched street.

When he had first heard Rukia's heartrending scream, his first thought had rather selfishly been a relieved _It's not Ichigo crying out_.

And then he saw him. Ichigo, his son, his firstborn child, bleeding out from a gaping hole in his chest, and the red, the scarlet, the spreading liquid. It was like someone had taken a white-hot iron and branded the image into his soul, and then wrapped it around his windpipe so he couldn't breathe.

Time dilated into a strange pattering of heartbeats and shunpo. Isshin was by the portal, and then suddenly beside Ichigo's too-still form, and he couldn't see his face, only his fiery orange hair that was the exact shade of his mother's, _oh by Soul King himself…_

And Isshin knelt in the pool of crimson, and the blood soaked through his shihakushuo immediately, a shivering wetness that clung to him and smelled of broken iron. He had gathered Ichigo into his arms, and held him like a child, ripping the sleeves of his uniform to pad the tattered hole through his son's heart, only to feel the blood running in weakening throbs between his slitted fingers.

Who is making that whimpering sound? Stop it. _Whoever you are, stop it._

Then Isshin realises that the sound is coming from his own mouth.

"Wake up, Ichigo," he half-pleads in a choked whisper. "Please." His hands clench tighter, stoppering the blood flow from Ichigo's chest by pure strength. He feels his son's ribs shift a little under the force, and he winces. But it is necessary. Any more blood, and Ichigo wouldn't have any left. His son is so pale, deathly so, and where is that always-present scowl that he uses as a self-defense mechanism after his mother's passing?

And Ichigo shifts, a miniscule movement, a fluttering of his eyelids. Isshin latches onto it like a lifeline, calling his son's name again and again.

"Come on, Ichigo, open your eyes, please…"

A tiny murmur, and a sliver of brown irises become visible. "Iss..in…taichou?"

Isshin frowns through eyes blinded by tears. _Isshin-taichou?_

Then Ichigo tries to smile, a tiny twitch of the corners of his mouth. "Not…Iss…in..san. Tou…san…" His eyes begins to drift closed again, but he rests his head against his father's shoulder.

Isshin feels like someone had just plunged their hand though his chest and squeezed his heart in a fist. _Tou-san._ Ichigo had switched to the more impersonal _Oyaji_ mere months after his mother's death. He didn't blame him back then, and not now. He wasn't a very responsible father, after all. Ichigo had to grow up so quickly – he was the one that made sure his sisters brushed their teeth, checked their homework, walked them to school. He was, and is, such a brave boy. And then he shot up to his ridiculous height, and discovered his shinigami powers, and started gallivanting off to fight nameless monsters, hollow and shinigami. Ichigo had never been his Daddy's little boy since that rain-soaked night.

But now – but now…and Isshin remembers that sunny smile of Ichigo's childhood. _My child_…

Isshin looks towards the portal. He has to get him back, somehow. If he could somehow get Unohana and her team to him in time – Ichigo coughs up a shuddering spray of red on his sleeve, and Isshin moves a hand to stroke his hair, mumbling rushed nonsense words of comfort, leaving streaks of ochre in the orange spikes.

But if he is to move him, he can't put pressure on the wound. And without pressure, Ichigo would bleed out and die. But if Unohana doesn't see to him, and quick, he would still succumb to his wounds.

Isshin is torn between the two choices, looking frantically at the portal and back to his son's unmoving face. He wants to scream in frustration.

And the moment when he thinks his head is going to split in two from hopeless pain, a very disconcerting voice sounds from right in front of him.

"Let me help you." A younger, haori-wearing Shiba Isshin, not a trace of jovial laughter on his face. In fact, his lips are drawn so tight, they appear white.

Isshin just stares at his younger self, unable to process this new development, only hugging Ichigo tighter to himself. He is unaware of how he appears – blood-streaked, hyperventilating, tear tracks coursing down his face.

"He's my son too, you know," the other Isshin says softly. "He's a good son. I can tell, even from only knowing him for a few days. Let me carry him. We can't have him losing any more blood." He reaches forward and touches Ichigo's limp hand.

This time, Isshin lets his other self touch Ichigo without jerking backwards. There is something mutual in that shared gaze. They both have a son. And the thought shocks Isshin from his catatonic state.

"Fine, I need you to lift him in a way so that I can keep the pressure on," Isshin says sharply, struggling to his feet as the other Isshin takes Ichigo's weight.

"We going over there?" the younger Isshin asks, jerking his head towards the portal.

"Yeah. Steady, don't shunpo. I don't think we can keep ahold of him with our different skill levels." Isshin tries not to think about the incessant throb of blood under his palms, or the red running down his arms to drip on the dirt ground.

"Yessir." The other Isshin doesn't even make a snarky comment about the _different skill levels_ phrase.

"I'm going to kill him when we get back," Isshin mutters, trying to distract himself by talking. "He's going to miss his sisters' graduation." _The blood means his heart is still beating._

The younger Isshin grins slightly. "I – we – have more kids?"

"Yeah. Karin and Yuzu. Twins. My darlings." Ichigo slips slightly in their grip, and Isshin claws at the soaked cloth, gritting his teeth until his son stops falling.

"And what was their mother like?" There is a dim flicker of hope in the younger man's gaze.

Their eyes meet. "Masaki was the most beautiful, wonderful woman I ever, and will ever, meet," Isshin says bluntly. "The day she died, a piece of me died with her."

The other Isshin nods gravely. He doesn't expect to understand what grief his counterpart has gone through. He won't understand, until his own time comes.

The portal is right in front of them now, a hazy storm of blue.

Isshin takes Ichigo into his arms again, his son groaning in pain unconsciously at the movement. "Shhh, Ichi. We're going home now," he soothes. He hasn't called Ichigo by that pet name since a long, long time ago. But he _has_ to use it now. "Thank you," he calls after the retreating figure of his younger self.

"Take care of our family," the other Isshin smiles sadly. Then something of a grin appears again. "I'm looking forward to meeting Masaki."

And Isshin tips backward through the portal, clutching Ichigo to his chest tightly. Just before his vision is swamped by the blackness of the space, he sees a chain of people pass beside him to land on the ground.

Urahara. Ukitake. Kyouraku.

Kyouraku strides forward, looking at the state of the battlefield.

Across to the eastern edge of Sokyoku Hill, Abarai-fuktaichou dances and cavorts in between angered swipes of Senbonzakura, a kimono-clad Byakuya snarling in his effort to catch him. A very rookie-looking younger Renji watches with gaping amazement, flinching at the screeching clash between Zabimaru's teeth and Senbonzakura's petals. Above, a spectacular frenzy of whirling metal and flipping haori reveals the Visored attacking as one, an oiled machine of defense and counter, Aizen tearing his way across the sky, still unable to draw Kyoka Suigetsu. The assorted seated officers that are now surprisingly unneeded mill together in a loose group on the ground, watching the battle with barely concealed awe.

There is a stir of multiple reiatsu signatures to the east, towards Seireitei proper. In particular, the lights of the Sixth and Tenth divisions are ablaze. The rest of the Gotei have undoubtedly risen to the commotion by now.

Kyouraku gestures briskly. "Urahara-san, please work quickly. We will soon have company, I should think." His one good eye is trained onto the distant lights.

Urahara is holding a peculiar entity within his hands – a spherical object seemingly made out of spun threads of glass, translucent and delicate, yet beating with an intense spike of reiatsu. The very core of the sphere is a dark, clotted red, almost like blood, and scores of different reiatsu signatures warp the air around the ball. Urahara holds it like a newborn child, cradling it carefully on the tips of his fingers. He nods his affirmation to Kyouraku's order. "We've gathered Kuchiki Rukia's reiatsu and blood before crossing over. We have Ichigo's reiatsu. All we need is Ichigo's blood, and we will have accounted for everyone."

Ukitake breaks in, staring up at where Matsumoto and Gin are. "Urahara-san, we may need Gin's blood as well. Considering Kuchiki-taichou's preliminary report, Gin may have deserted Aizen fifty decades early. We will have to remedy that."

"Right. See ya!" And with a tip of his hat, Urahara blurs towards the pool of blood where Ichigo had previously lain.

Kyouraku draws his zanpakutuo slowly and deliberately. "So, Juushiro," he says conversationally, "looks like we're not needed. Everyone seems to be handling things well. You shouldn't join in the fight unless absolutely necessary, you know. You're only on the first trial of that new medicine."

"Of course, Shunsui," Ukitake says rather distractedly, prompting the Soutaichou to snap his gaze towards him. Ukitake's line of sight is focused on the still figures of Matsumoto Rangiku and Ichimaru Gin, off to one side. They are standing so motionless, Kyouraku had missed them out in his first scan of the skies.

"If we're lucky," Kyouraku murmurs, "we might be able to get what we need from him without a struggle."

Ukitake dips his head once, green eyes still fixed upon the two figures. They are speaking, although their words cannot be heard over such a distance.

When Matsumoto had first volunteered to be part of the team going through on the rescue mission, she had almost immediately regretted her decision, only to revert back to a desperate longing to see her childhood friend again. Torn between a terrified fear – how would this younger Gin react to seeing her? – and an aching sense of loss – so many days spent with visions of their time in Rukongai together, and his last words choked before his death – she had only hugged herself and trembled, dithering until the last moment to enter the portal.

And when the light of the sunset rushed and enveloped her, she had looked up, skimming the sky, and latched upon that painfully familiar shock of silver lightning. She had thrown herself into the air without a second thought, feet moving seemingly without her own will, a tripping, stumbling shunpo like that moment in the ruins of Karakura when she had seen that same head of hair drenched with blood, lying prone on rubble, run though by Aizen.

And there he was, unadorned by a captain's haori, still with his fukutaichou's badge, looking younger, somehow, and more vulnerable. His zanpakutuo was half-coated in blood – Ichigo's blood, even as Isshin below them desperately tried to save his son.

The moment she appeared before him, their eyes had met. Teal grey-blue, and icy cerulean. Rangiku had never known why, but she could always see Gin's eyes, from the moment they had first met on that desolate field in the Rukongai. Others had told her that the snakelike slits obscured his true nature in a mask of intimidation, but she had always been able to see the windows to his soul, no matter how he had tried to hide them behind his curved eyelashes.

And now those ice-blue eyes show shock, recognition, and guarded pain.

She swallows. _I must do this._ "Hello, Gin," she says softly, arms still around herself, trying to comfort.

He doesn't answer, just stares at her, lips not even in that trademark grin, his face curiously childlike.

"I missed you," she whispers, eyes filling with tears, and she chokes back a sob, hugging herself tighter and tearing her eyes from him as she fights back against the emotion, trying to regain some semblance of control. A tear slips down her cheek.

A ghosting of black and white and silver, and suddenly he is there, catching the single tear on a fingertip, carefully avoiding touching her face. The teardrop glistens sliver-white on his finger, and his hand shakes momentarily, as if the liquid is painful to him.

She looks up at him, finding him but a step away, holding her teardrop like it is a precious gem. He still doesn't speak. She nods. _It's okay._ She doesn't expect him to understand.

"I –" she stutters, swallows, and tries again. "I wanted to say, I never thought less of you after that day, when you – you –" She stops. "I finally understand, you know. All of it. I'm sorry I misjudged you, even h-hated you for a while, when you followed Aizen." She takes a shuddering breath.

Is it her imagining, or are Gin's eyes softer? Still he holds her gaze, unwavering.

"And," she continues, "I want to say, thank you. Thank you for everything. I knew that you were someone special from the moment you found me in that field. Thank you, Gin." She is about to cry again, and she wants to fold in on herself and disappear for while.

Then, a voice she hasn't heard for a long, long decade.

"Rangiku." Gin's voice, quiet. His gaze holds words that he cannot ever express.

And Matsumoto sees what Gin never had a chance to say, all those years and months and days before.

"Rangiku," he says again, even softer.

She smiles tremulously, for the first time. Her shoulders stop shaking, and she stands straighter. And Gin's mouth twitches upwards too.

The truest imitation of a real smile that Ichimaru Gin will ever produce.

Then he shifts, and draws his blade across his palm in one, rapid stroke. Matsumoto gasps, reaching forward to catch his hand. His reiatsu-filled blood trickles through her tear droplet and runs back to pool into her cupped fingers.

"Why?" she asks simply.

Gin's snakelike smile is back. He tilts his head behind her, and she looks back to see Urahara heading towards them, spherical object in hand.

Matsumoto understands. If the memory of his defection is not wiped from Aizen's mind, there is a very real possibility that the timeline would Seireitei would fall, and she would die. So Gin is protecting her, by giving his blood willingly, sacrificing his knowledge of Aizen's future.

He closes his fingers over her hands, his blood cradled in her fingers. They look at each other for a long, long moment.

"Goodbye," she whispers.

He tilts his head.

And she turns, hair flying in an arc behind her as she spins towards Urahara, her hands still holding his blood, and her tears, merged into a seamless whole.

Below, Kyouraku watches as Urahara lifts the globe to Matsumoto's hands, a round hole appearing to catch the red liquid. The sphere actually stirs, waves and currents of light rippling across its surface as it absorbs every drop of blood on her hands. "It's done," he says. "Urahara-san's solution is primed and ready. We have the blood and reiatsu of every shinigami that needs to be forgotten."

Blood, as a signature of physical self. Reiatsu, as a signature of their existence at that particular point in time.

Ukitake doesn't reply. Kyouraku is about to turn around when an alarmed hand on his arm snaps his attention to his friend.

"What is it?" he asks Ukitake, whose eyes are fixed far into the distance.

"Look, Shunsui," he says quietly, solemnly.

Kyouraku turns his gaze to follow Ukitake's, and immediately tenses into a loose battle stance. His hand drops to his zanpakutuo.

For a score of distinct figures have detached themselves from the streets of Seireitei, speeding towards Sokyoku Hill with fleet haste, their feet drawing long white streaks in the slipstream caused by their shunpo.

Kyouraku's remaining eye is sharp enough to pick out at least seven or eight recognizable figures out of the group at this distance.

Soi Fong, Komamura, Zaraki, Unohana, Tousen. Two figures running beside each other that look suspiciously like themselves – a younger Ukitake and Kyouraku. At the center of the formation, a wizened face that he has not seen for a decade, crafted stick gripped in one hand, riding on the wind. Yamamoto Genryuusai.

_Sensei._

Next to him, Ukitake has gone a shade of milky white, and his fingers tighten their grip on Kyouraku's arm.

"Juushiro?" Kyouraku asks sharply, pivoting to look into Ukitake's face. "Are you alright? Is it your illness acting up again – you shouldn't have come."

"No," Ukitake hisses, "I'm fine. It's just –" He raises a long, slender finger and points.

Kyouraku sees on the very edge of the incoming cloud of shinigami, a tall figure with a fukutaichou's badge that makes him frown for a moment. _Ichigo-taichou?_ But no, this figure has sable-black hair, and wears his zanpakutuo belted to his side.

_Shiba Kaien._

No wonder Ukitake looks pale.

"Ah," Kyouraku says sagely. If there are words for this sort of situation, he can't find them. He focuses on his duties instead, amplifying his voice with reiatsu into a cutting tone of command. "Abarai-fukutaichou! Hirako-taichou! Fall back and return to the portal, it's time to leave before we're surrounded. Hirako-taichou, I would appreciate it if you could, ah, _deter_ our dear friend Aizen so that Urahara-san can do his work. Seated officers, return _now_."

The group of seated officers react with some professionalism, only looking back at the fight once or twice as they snap to attention and file back to the portal.

Abarai salutes cockily, upside-down and hair in a starburst, from where he is currently executing a double backflip in an attempt to avoid Senbonzakura's clutches. "Hai, Soutaichou-sama," he calls nonchalantly back towards them.

Shinji catches Kyouraku's eye, and nods once to indicate his understanding. They need to immobilize Aizen momentarily, just enough time for Urahara to set the sphere in action.

Next to him, Hiyori pouts at the soon-to-be end to their satisfying and extremely violent rematch with their greatest enemy. Aizen has escaped serious injuries, more due to their holding back than his agile defense. Nevertheless, a trail of red runs freely from his temple, his hair singed and haori smoking, the two deep cuts caused by Ichigo and Shinji are raised and angry, and his expression is beginning to show a hint of humiliation under that pitiless rage. But Hiyori's appetite for revenge is yet insatiable, and she, as all of them do, cannot burn the sight of Ichigo bleeding out on the ground just moments ago from their vision. Hiyori too had suffered under Gin's zanpakutuo in the Winter War.

Shinji has just completed his spin towards the Visored, preparing to order their retreat, when Hiyori blazes past him in a bright flash of red and yellow, a telltale nimbus of crimson light forming just past her open lips.

_Cero._

Shinji whirls and dashes after her. _Too much, Hiyori!_ Aizen can't survive a direct hit from her full-power cero, not in his current state. He catches her wrist deftly in his free hand, and yanks himself towards her so she can hear him speak. "Ten percent power," he says. Hiyori _glares_ at him, and shakes her head. "_Ten percent, fuktaichou._ It's an order," he says sharply. "We can't kill him without killing Ichigo," he reminds her.

At that, Hiyori visibly reins in her power, and lets the singularity reverberate into sparking, dancing sphere, before arching her back and _roaring_ at Aizen, an animalistic howl of crowing victory. The Visored maneuver themselves into position so that Aizen has nowhere to run.

The flaming conflagration is reflected in Aizen's glasses a moment before it consumes him.

Shinji flicks his fingers, and the Visored once more form one unbroken line. "Good job," he calls out shortly. "We're done here. Fall back."

The cero clears to reveal and choking, gagging Aizen, with soot smudged across his lenses and a doubly intense stare of hatred behind them. He tries to form words, but is forced into hacking coughs as he struggles not to fall from the sky.

Shinji holds that serpent's gaze with a stare even colder than the one drilling into his skull. "One thing you must know. Kurosaki Ichigo is one of us. That was done in his name. We have already seen you humiliatingly defeated once before. We were glad to oblige once again."

And with a swish of his haori, he leads the Visored in a concerted flash-step to the ground, two paces behind Kyouraku, Ukitake, and Urahara. Renji lands beside them a second later, sheathing Zabimaru with a rasp.

Kyouraku acknowledges them with a nod. "Urahara-san," he says quietly.

Urahara hefts the spherical object closer to himself, fingers tapping it in a complex pattern. It starts to glow brighter.

And with a strange sort of supernatural absence of sound, the opposite edge of the cliff is suddenly lined with shinigami, sandaled feet and white-gilded haori ghosting to an utterly silent stop. A score of hands land on a score of zanpakutuo hilts.

On Sokyoku Hill stands the shinigami of Seiretei against each other, on one side a spinning portal, on the other a nest of half-drawn zanpakutuo. Here is the sum total of it all –a fading creed and a new order, past and present, old and young, war veterans and soldiers in a war's creeping shadow, a checkboard chessboard of black against white, with a different king and a different doctrine.

Ghosts and the living.

The silence stands, immortal, endless, both sides evaluating the other.

Then it is Kyouraku and Ukitake's voices in tandem that shatter the quiet like a sharp knife against paper-thin glass, the barrier of silence falling in a million incandescent shards to scatter across time and space.

"Greetings, Yamamoto-sensei," both intone with deep bows of utmost respect. "It is good to see you again." It is the formal greeting between students and teacher long separated.

The assembled shinigami shift in surprise. This is not what they expected – they had thought there was a great incursion into Seireitei's shields, not a dozen _respectful_ shinigami.

Yamamoto regards them both expressionlessly. Then he strides forward, cane tapping the hard-baked crust of earth, until he stands clear from the crowd. He surveys Kyouraku and Ukitake with eyes unreadable as steel. In the gathering behind him, the younger Kyouraku and Ukitake also look on.

The air suddenly goes dry as sun-drenched bone, crackling with suppressed energy and robbed of all moisture. Each breath burns the lungs and dries the tongue. Yamamoto's cane shivers under his weathered hand. Several younger shinigami in the back have to grab onto each other to stay standing.

Kyouraku and Ukitake share a glance. Then Ukitake bows his head in formal deference, and steps back as Kyouraku meets his teacher's heavy gaze full-on. Kyouraku draws his zanpakutuo, and flips it once.

A rustling of the fabric between words, and suddenly the air is moist again, the scent of spring and rose petals and fresh green grass flooding across the gap between the two soutaichou.

Yamamoto's eyebrows lift ever so slightly.

And all at once, both reiatsus disappear.

"My children," Yamamoto finally heaves with a sigh, "why are you here?"

Kyouraku's smile is tinged with sadness. "We came to bring back our own. I apologise for entering unannounced, but we mean Seireitei no harm."

Yamamoto snorts, eyes flicking to Aizen, the kimono-wearing Byakuya, the Visored, and Urahara. "Kyouraku-soutaichou," he says, and the honorific spreads a ripple across the shinigami crowd. "I fail to see how no harm has been done. I see our captains injured, and your captains traitors. Where are Kurosaki-taichou and Kuchiki-fukutaichou?"

Kyouraku flicks a hand at the portal. "Gone. We will trouble you no further. We take our leave, respectfully. Farewell, Sensei." A hint of regret.

Beside him, Ukitake catches Kaien's eye, and inclines his head. _Thank you, and my respect, dear friend._ As he straightens, Kaien shakes his head and bows back, only deeper. _I have done nothing to deserve such honour. I return it to you._ Ukitake's leaf-green eyes are wet.

The shinigami from the future shift as one towards the portal.

Yamamoto steps forward, all the weight of his years in command suffusing his voice. "You cannot leave, not after trespassing on our territory."

Kyouraku looks back, and there is something indescribably sad in his eyes. Then the shield of a captain is up again, and he gestures to Urahara, sharply.

And the cliff detonates into an explosion of movement, as all shinigami from the future throw themselves in the direction of the portal, save Urahara. The shinigami from the past move forward in a crested wave the moment they see them apparently fleeing, zanpakutuos drawn in a cacophony of metallic songs –

Only Urahara faces them, a smile weirdly in-between laughing and sad, a seemingly mocking grin clashing with a hidden hardness in his mouth. He raises the sphere in front of him, and releases it, half-turning away, eyes shadowed beneath the rim of his hat.

The sphere reaches the ground just as the first shinigami reach level with it, reiatsu throbbing at a frenetic pace.

_CRACK._

And it shatters almost in slow-motion, a perfect wave of broken glass-like slivers that roll in a beautiful wave from base to top, a single, clairvoyant note that hums upon the air and thunders upon the sky and burrows into ears and reverberates in ribcages and resounds in glorious timbre in every heart.

Every shinigami stops. They have to. It is not a conscious choice.

The shards hang in the air, indispersed with a thousand more droplets of ruby liquid, every blood-drop a mark of an individual shinigami, glowing with their own reiatsu signature like a throbbing symbol of their self and identity. Somewhere in the cloud of translucent crystal and warping crimson, there is a single teardrop. It goes unnoticed, and it is not important, save for the two hands that it has touched. In the very center of this half-frozen dance, there is a bright singularity of incomparable power.

It shines silver, then golden, a dazzling luminosity greater and warmer than the almost-set sun on the western horizon. Only a hairsbreadth of crimson light is visible along the great curve now – and with something like an exhalation, Seireitei falls into night.

With a muted thud, the golden center of the hado washes outwards in a scattering of gilded raindrops, a concussion that accelerates exponentially, covering all of Seireitei in an eyeblink. But it is concentrated on Sokyoku Hill itself, and all the higher-level shinigami gathered there.

As the last golden drop melts into the ground, the crooked edge of Urahara's hat disappears also in the shrinking portal.

All across the hill, shinigami reel, clutching their heads. Weaker footsoldiers and some seated officers go still immediately, looks of serene emptiness on their faces, eyes glazed over. Others, fukutaichou and taichou, keep on hand on their zanpakutuo, blazing their own reiatsu in a futile attempt to resist.

Kuchiki Byakuya grips Senbonzakura, shoulders tense, gritting his teeth.

Abarai Renji collapses on his knees, clawing at Zabimaru, feeling images of himself with bankai, and Rukia glowing a luminous being of white fire, falling like lost puzzle pieces from his mind.

Ichimaru Gin clutches his zanpakutuo to his heart, and bows his head, thinking of orange hair and brilliant teal-blue eyes.

Shiba Kaien smiles sadly, raising his eyes to the glimmering stars, and sheathes Nejibana with a sigh.

Aizen Sousuke roars with fury, holding his head between his hands, struggling with Kyoka Suigetsu against the river of attacking reiatsu around him. _Kurosaki Ichigo. Kuchiki Rukia. Hollowfied. Quincy. Visored. Gin. _But all is fading, blacking away, slipped through his fingers like slippery silverfin, going, going… _Kurosaki Ichigo. Hollowfied. _No, encroaching blackness, and Urahara's echoing laughter. _Kurosaki Ichigo. Kurosaki Ichigo. I will brand that name into my skin if I have to. Kurosaki Ichigo._

And when Aizen opens his eyes, everyone around him is dazed. He is dazed, blood streaming from wounds.

A flicker by his side. Ichimaru Gin, his faithful follower. "What…happened?" Gin asks, uncharacteristically shaken.

Aizen opens his mouth to answer – and stops. He can't remember. How strange. _Someone has tampered with my memory._ He stands, and scans the surrounding shinigami. Even Yamamoto is holding his head.

He struggles to his feet, and looks at the moonrise to the east.

And something surfaces like a piece of wood half-drowned in a flood, on the flat plane that is his mind.

A name.

_Kurosaki Ichigo._

Aizen smiles. No face with the name, but a name nonetheless. He will seek out the meaning of that name, one day.

_I will find you._

* * *

**Now, that was over 9000 words. A single, unbroken scene. Nine thousand. I think I'm going to die. Whew. Please appreciate, and give me some pepper-up for the effort :) Now, I'm going on a camp until Thursday. This means that the next chapter might be a bit late. But look out for it anyway, I'm definitely going to try my best to get it out fast.**

**Review please! I basically trooped around the entire day, then threw myself at my laptop and typed frantically for a couple hours straight. **

**Replies to guest reviews: **

**Guest: Thank you so much for the review! I'm glad you liked it (although you probably hated me for the cliffie). Hope this one made up for it :)**

**Guest: Thank you! Haha did you like her bankai?**

**Guest: Your review is my favourite, ever. How many "o"s was that? Haha :)**

**Guest: I'm evil, that's what. I left it there cause I'm evil. Merheheheh. Thanks for the review!**

**Miyo89: The complicatedness was here. Whew! All done :) Thanks, and I hope you liked it.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello, people. As promised, your new chappie! I hope you guys like this one, because I tried to make it what you were waiting for. Thanks for bearing with me for the two-week wait, the next chapter will come out **_**much**_** faster seeing as I'm half-done with it already. **

**IMPORTANT: Er, after fourteen chapters I have sadly remembered that Unohana is not supposed to be alive at this point, considering that this story is set a decade after the current manga…whoops. But I need her. So she's magically here? And another thing, I do know Orihime exists. But it seems to somehow ruin the flow of the story, so she doesn't really appear either? Is that okay with you guys – I'm not an Orihime hater, it's just that this is *cough* **_**IchiRuki**_**.**

**Oh, we have broken through the 400 review mark (courtesy to ) and I THANK YOU ALL. I love every single one of you.**

**Thanks to reviewers: DLC2094, Debido, Eternal Cat Moon, Guest, poooy200, , Ethyrin Kairos, lux thebarbarionwarrior, Phantom Claire, MerryKitten, NarutoLuver896, brialees, Faia Sakura, GhibliGirl91, Vanimelde Melindel, uzuki-chan, BakerTennant'sTardis, MugetsuIchigo, Eradona, , The Unknown ShiniGami, Lovely Loree, JTiberiusKirk, Kireina-Ame, Mtmeye, KJC2025, laughingspider, mypupps1, Qwerty321, silverscribbles, Tsuki no Yukihime, Guest, NiceGoingLife, Chirpy Hitomi chan, Guest, Guest, NobodyEpic, Guest, shayerasaiyo, Guest, Guest.**

**I don't own except the plot, I love you guys, enjoy the chap!**

* * *

The moment Renji, the Visored, and Matsumoto had disappeared through the portal to the Seireitei of the past, leaving only Urahara, Kyouraku-soutaichou, and Ukitake-taichou remaining, the Fourth Division had pulled open the great double doors to the laboratory.

Unohana and her senior medical team already had their hair and shihakushuo sleeves pulled back, washed hands kept tight at their sides to avoid contamination. Around them, it almost seemed as if every shinigami and seated officer available rushed over the dirty tiled flooring like a tide, dragging stretchers and bandages and assorted technical equipment into regulated rows, a clear path down the center ready for serious cases to be taken directly to surgery.

Hanatarou, newly inducted Sixth seat of the Fourth Division, had been one of them. His small, diminutive stature had not helped in the crowd of black and white shihakushuo, a frenzied patter of feet and clatter of rolling hospital stretchers and shouted commands and reordered positions. Thrown about like a leaf caught in a gale, Hanatarou had gritted his teeth and fought through the heaving sea of uniforms, until he emerged, gasping, into the tepid air of the laboratory, right next to Unohana-taichou and her senior team of her fukutaichou and three highest-ranking seated officers. He looks over his shoulder to check the room.

All is in place.

And all at once, a dead silence falls on the room. Even Mayuri-taichou has run out of things to do, crooked fingers resting on steady dials, having already rerouted backup power to support the dwindling portal.

Hanatarou can feel his heart thudding painfully into his ribs. Fifty pairs of eyes are fixed in the center of the portal, at the one true pinpoint of darkness, a window into the past. _Ichigo. Rukia. _He breathes slowly and evenly, willing himself to keep his mind blank.

Medical teams are supposed to be professional. Although _care_ is their creed, and _healing_ their purpose, the one true maxim of all medical personnel is far colder and impersonal than any wounded soldier might think.

_Detachment._

Every certified shinigami healer is supposed to think of nothing more than the specifics of the healing kido that flow through their fingertips, the green glow of their reiatsu, and the timbre of their patient's breathing and heartbeat. There is no self, no pain, no worry, nothing personal. In the best of the Fourth's healing rooms, all reiatsu signatures are serene, a flat plane of silence where nothing disturbs the calm.

Supposedly, anyway.

The room is near crackling with suppressed reiatsu. Hanatarou struggles to keep his worry in control, endlessly telling himself that the taichou and fukutaichou pair are too strong for anything _really_ bad to happen. Around him, the medical officers stand tense and straight, fists clenched and eyes drilling into the portal. Even Unohana-taichou's usually kind and composed face has descended into a look reminiscent of her days as Kenpachi – a flat plane of withdrawn cold rimmed with darkness. Her hands tremble, so slightly that Hanatarou can only discern it after staring at her for a full minute.

This is about Kurosaki Ichigo and Kuchiki Rukia. It is impossible to be detached in such a situation.

It almost seems as if the entire room is holding their breath as one, waiting, watching, hoping. Unohana-taichou does not need to call out orders. Every shinigami is as ready with healing kido as the Eleventh are usually ready with their zanpakutuo.

Urahara fiddles with a translucent glass sphere, talking in low tones with Ukitake and Kyouraku. The soutaichou turns sharply, and bows his head to the medical team, locking eyes with Unohana.

"We are all in your hands now," Kyouraku says softly. His words echo off the hewn ceiling, sounding louder, and severer, than they were intended.

The Fourth Division bows as one.

Kyouraku shares a glance with Ukitake and Urahara, and at a small nod, they move towards the portal together.

Then the portal shivers.

Urahara snaps his head towards Mayuri. Mayuri shakes his head rapidly, hand tapping a dial.

"Someone is passing back through," Urahara says, stepping away from the portal's mouth fluidly.

The medical team tense almost to a crouch.

With a sucking noise, the gateway almost seems to collapse inwards at the center, the darkness encroaching towards the blued edges in a spinning frenzy. A shadow begins to grow larger in the nothingness, a tall silhouetted form –

_Kurosaki-taichou?_

Then Kuchiki Byakuya emerges like a white-robed ghost from the plane of the portal, hair whipping behind him, not even pausing to acknowledge Kyouraku's presence. Nobody bothers to ask why, for in his arms, cradled like a sick child, face unnaturally white and too thin even for someone of her stature, is his sister, Kuchiki Rukia. Her eyes are half-closed, violet irises glazed over, and she rests like a limp doll in the crook of his arm, head against his haori. Her shihakushuo robes are drenched and heavy, as if she has been running in pouring rain, the kind that wets shinigami through to the bone.

Then an all-too familiar smell hits Hantarou's nose, a metallic rust-iron reek that slams into the back of his throat and clogs his airways. At the exact same moment, Rukia shifts a little as Byakuya lands, crouched, and her robes trail a brilliant swipe of scarlet onto his haori, red painted in stark contrast to clean white.

Her shihakushuo is soaked through with blood, not water, dripping perfect circles of coin-like crimson on the tiled laboratory floor.

Kuchiki Byakuya's expression is one of unbridled agitation. His signature cold emotionless mask is wiped away, and those storm-clouded eyes are wide with distress. He dashes towards Unohana, feet almost slipping in his haste.

Hanatarou swallows. He has only seen that sort of look on Kuchiki-taichou's face once. Half a century ago, he had just been introduced into the division when he had paused outside the window of Unohana-taichou's office and seen Kuchiki Byakuya _pleading_ for a cure for some disease he had never heard of. Only later had Hanatarou learned of Hisana's illness. Unohana-taichou had told Byakuya gently, and firmly, that there was nothing the Fourth could do. Hanatarou hadn't meant to eavesdrop, truly, but the look of barely controlled desperation that had washed over Kuchiki Byakuya's face at that moment is only marginally worse than the dark frown of fear that he now displays.

Unohana gestures swiftly, and the closest medical shinigami run forward with a stretcher. Byakuya reaches her at the same moment, and his words tumble over each other in a rush.

"She just activated bankai for the first time with extremely low reiatsu reserves at her disposal." His voice is almost completely level, but there is an underlying tremble in his words. He tries to lay Rukia down on the stretcher, but the moment his arms loosen around her, she squeaks, a strangled sound, and closes her bloody fingers in a death grip on his haori. Even her lips are pale blue, now. Byakuya has to kneel awkwardly beside the stretcher, throwing his dignified poise to the wind, Rukia still half-within his arms.

Isane-fukutaichou finishes her preliminary scan with a twist of her fingers, and reports rapidly. "Severe reiatsu exhaustion. Near depletion of core. Entering shock."

"Physical wounds?" Unohana asks, taking Rukia's head gently between her hands. Hanatarou hovers next to the stretcher, hands already glowing with healing kido. Considering the amount of blood, they must be extensive.

"Except for third-degree burns on wrists, likely reiatsu burns, none."

Unohana turns like a whiplash and holds Byakuya's gaze.

Byakuya says calmly, "It's not her blood. I suspect she only gathered enough reiatsu to melt through her reiatsu cuffs because of shock." He breaks her gaze and looks back down at Rukia, the fingers of one hand stroking her hair away from her face. "Kurosaki Ichigo should be coming through soon."

Unohana processes this piece of information with growing alarm, and flings a hand at her senior medical team. "Second through fourth relief team, mark Kuchiki-fukutaichou. First relief team and senior medical corps, standby! Move her to the other room immediately!"

At Ichigo's name, Rukia shudders, jerking into half-conciousness. "Ichigo…" she whispers, starting to shift, turning her head even as the stretcher starts to move. They pass through the doors, surrounded by medical shinigami.

"She shouldn't move!" Hanatarou calls out quickly, reaching out to steady her. But Byakuya is faster, drawing her closer and hushing her soothingly, telling her to stay quiet.

Rukia seems to recognise her brother's touch, and says in a half-incoherent mumble, "Nii-sama?"

"Sssh, I'm here, be still," Byakuya says, bent over her.

"I – I can't – I can't see very well…"

Isane stiffens. A chill goes through Byakuya's heart, but he forces himself to stay calm as he gently tilts Rukia's head back so he can see her eyes. A remnant of her bankai's glassy film still covers her eyes. "Rukia, I need you to do something for me," he says carefully, signaling to Isane and getting a nod in return.

Byakuya continues in his quiet, calm tone. "Can you tell Sode no Shirayuki to let go of the rest of your shared reiatsu?"

Rukia's eyelids droop lower. "I'm tired, Nii-sama," she says, face in his haori.

"Don't let her sleep," Isane says sharply.

_If she doesn't completely let go of bankai, she'll die from reiatsu exhaustion_, Byakuya thinks. The thought is like icy meltwater poured down his windpipe, nearly debilitating him. "Rukia."

No reply.

"_Rukia._"

Nothing.

Byakuya gives himself no time to panic. If he allows himself to pause for one more second, the memory of calling out to Hisana mid-conversation in a plum garden and hearing silence in reply will flood his heart and soul and he might as well be paralysed with fear and horror on the spot. So he ignores this terrifying memory on the edge of his consciousness and snaps into his cold captain's tone of authority, a tone he has not used with Rukia for over a decade.

"_Rukia. I forbid you to sleep. Wake up and deactivate bankai._"

And Rukia shivers in his arms, pain washing over her features. The last remnants of the icy covering over her irises melt into silvery tear-trails that trickle out of the corners of her eyes, mingling with her tears. "Nii-sama…" she murmurs, almost too soft to hear. But she is breathing evenly now, albeit lightly.

Byakuya almost sags with relief, and finds himself without words. He just holds her, looking at Isane Kotetsu shouting orders to her team in a sort of detached stupor. And all too soon, he has to loosen his hold on his sister as the medical relief team swarms around her bedside. But her small hand never leaves his, hidden away in his palm. Her fingers are cold.

Behind them, Urahara, Kyouraku and Ukitake leap forward into the portal, leaving Unohana and her senior medical team standing in the empty laboratory. The Fourth Division captain is snapping orders left and right, bringing the heads of each relief team to order. "Prepare at least four blood transfusions – hook them up consecutively. Hanatarou-san!"

"Hai, taichou!" The call comes from the other room. Hanatarou ducks and weaves through to come to a stop in front of his captain.

"Your team is on standby after Kurosaki-taichou comes through. Any other injured shinigami is entirely your duty. Do you understand?" Unohana's usually kind face is now in absolute stern command, and Hanatarou knows better than to do anything but respond in affirmative.

"Yes, ma'am!" he says quickly, bobbing his head.

Unohana has already turned away towards her most senior officers. "I want two teams ready for emergency surgery –"

The portal shakes once again, a seething morass of crackling white and black and cerulean lightning.

The room falls still immediately, the only sound coming from the team attending to Rukia in the other room.

A tumble of ragged shihakushuo, torn cloth, and orange hair. The clatter of two zanpakutuos bathed in crimson on the tiles, and a seeping pool of undiluted scarlet. The two figures hidden in the bundle of soaked cloth are almost indiscernable.

And Isshin raises his face – tears mingling with blood – and rasps, "_Help him. Please._" His words sound like they have been dragged through a grate of saws. Ichigo is held pressed to his chest, and Isshin's hands are covered in red, a weakening pulse that drains his son of life.

The horror of the moment seems to take that second of time and drag it to a dying crawl, an instant frozen in ice-tinged carmine.

Then Unohana is pulling Ichigo from Isshin's arms, aided by her team, and the room erupts into deafening clamour. Isshin can only feel his son's lingering warmth slip away from his hands, and see his orange hair matted with blood, and then he is obscured from view on the stretcher as two relief teams swamp him as one.

The world suddenly tilts into a strange patterned vortex of sound and colour, and Isshin is momentarily transfixed by the colour of his own hands. _Why are they so red?_ Ichigo's blood. The vividness of the colour seems even stronger in contrast to the white tiling of the laboratory floor. He tries to rub away the red by dragging his hand along the ground, but all that leaves is a glaring swipe of ridged scarlet trails, reflecting his own haunted eyes in the artificial glow of the lights above.

Someone is shaking him. Slapping him, even. Must have fallen asleep – there's Ichigo waking him up with his usual violence, after all. Sigh. All he wants is a nap, really. Time to teach his son a bit about parental respect –

"–sshin-san! Wake up! Look at me. _Look here!_"

Isshin frowns as his vision comes into focus. _Where's Ichigo?_ That doesn't sound like his voice… In front of him is a small shinigami with a determined, if nervous, frown, waving a hand before his eyes.

"…What?" he manages, choking the words out from the back of his throat.

"I'm Yamada Hanatarou, Sixth seat of the Fourth Division. I need to check you over for injury. Are you hurt?" The small figure speaks rapidly.

Isshin tries to understand the chain of sentences. "I'm…fine," he says, blinking against the bright light. He dimly registers that Hanatarou is ordering them to check him over anyway, but all he can see is the tumult across the room that surrounds Ichigo. He can't see his son at all, except for a limp arm that trails off the stretcher, dripping crimson onto the ground from one slack fingertip. Unohana can barely be seen either, surrounded on all sides by her team, shouting commands he cannot understand. He sees her raise an arm drenched up to the elbow with gore, gesturing for something.

Someone hands her a knife.

And a roaring emotion rears its head within Isshin, and he is on his feet and halfway across the room before six people jump him and bring him to the ground, and still he struggles as he sees the blinking lights reflect off the deadly edge of the scalpel.

"Get him out of here right now! I need a sedative!" Hanatarou again.

Something hits the back of his neck, and he hears the hiss of a depressing needle, before he finally relaxes, sprawled on the ground. He can still hear and see, but the raging emotion is sucked away. And with the loss of confused anger, there comes a painful clarity that resounds within his consciousness.

_Ichigo is hurt. My son is dying._

Indistinctly, he is aware that he is being helped through a set of doors, to another room also filled with green kido and rushing shinigami. The doors slam shut with a painful finality behind him, cutting off the laboratory from the outside room.

And just as quickly, he is being laid out on white sheets, and he is looking at the ceiling instead of the walls. If he strains his ears, he can hear Unohana's muffled orders even through the thickness of the great double doors.

Isshin doesn't know what to do, and so he just breathes, looking at the rings of light emanating from the bare lightbulbs above him.

Then, a voice, cutting through his stupor. "Isshin-san."

He looks blearily to the side, and there is Kuchiki Byakuya, holding an unconscious Rukia's hand as a medic carefully bandages her wrists, and another fits on an oxygen mask. Byakuya's usually cold tone is different, somehow. An understanding between them, perhaps. Or a mutual experience. His eyes ask a silent question.

Isshin lies there for a moment, thinking of how to reply. In the end, he just shakes his head.

Byakuya's gaze drops away, back to his sister. He grips her hand tighter, fingers in her hair. He, too, is quiet for a while. When his reply comes, it is resigned, soft, apologetic. "I'm sorry."

Isshin doesn't answer. There is nothing to say.

Seiretei is silent. The lights in the Twelfth Division laboratory burn late through the hours, a wavering candle struggling against a gale that threatens to snuff it out.

No one sleeps in Seireitei that night.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The new soutaichou, well, _relatively_ new, seeing as he has been in office for a full decade now, has different tastes than the previous one. Not that Kyouraku Shunsui would ever scorn his sensei's memory by insulting Yamamoto Genryuusai, but his office and adjoining gardens are far more, ah, _floral_.

So thinks Ukitake, as he makes his way to his friend and soutaichou's offices, a pensive frown marring his usually open face.

In full bloom, the gardens of the soutaichou rooms are well-groomed enough to rival Kuchiki Byakuya's at their finest. Vivid blossoms of every imaginable colour from pink to mauve to powdery periwinkle blue, along with leafy green trees over pebbled walkways. Ukitake lets a small, momentary smile wash away the gloom – he is almost absolutely sure, after all, that the shady treeline was added for his benefit alone – before sadness once again redeems his features.

It is the last few weeks of autumn now, and almost all the trees have shed their leaves. The once dappled sunlit walkway is besieged by a tide of dead leaves, most almost drained of colour. As Ukitake walks gracefully between the arched gate, the last, fiery leaf breaks from its stem and drifts in a dead wind to the ground.

_All things have an end, and a death._

Ukitake is old. He may not look it, that perpetual easy smile of youth and amiability ever present, but inside, he feels his age. He is not a stranger to death, having believed himself to have one sandal in it already since a long time ago. He has lived longer than he expected, anyway. If he were to die now, that would mean not much to him. But no, fate has a strange way of changing the seasons. An eyebrow lifts as he considers the irony. The aged captain waiting for his death is now healthy as ever, thanks to a new cure. The young – the young are not supposed to die, or to fall, or to pass away. Their job is to squabble, to party, to fall in love, to be overly loud and receive candy from their elders. That is their lot in life.

_The young are not supposed to fade._

With that thought, Ukitake reaches the door of Shunsui's office. He enters without knocking, as is their tradition. Two thousand years of brotherhood crumbles many barriers.

Kyouraku is standing by the window, looking at the fraying garden. "Juushiro," he says quietly.

Ukitake smiles painfully at that serious tone. No _Juu-chan_ today. "Shunsui," he answers equally as softly, joining him by the window.

"How is the new medicine faring?" Kyouraku's voice is weary.

"Well. I am well."

"Good." A tired exhalation.

Ukitake turns slightly. "And news of the memory-modifying hado?"

Outside, a chill wind gathers, brushing a whirlwind of leaves against the window. Kyouraku nods. "Mayuri and Urahara have discovered no strange readings of the membrane between the worlds. Everything remains balanced, and although they tell me that we would not register a change if it did happen, they also can assure me that any change would have come up on their instruments. It worked."

Ukitakes grips the window frame with one thin hand, fingertips tracing the grains within the wood. Mahogany, a hardwood of many years. Knot to striation to knot again, endless. "Perhaps we have changed nothing at all," he begins slowly.

Kyouraku looks at him with one sharp eye. "What do you mean?"

Ukitake's finger stops at one knot in particular, concentric rings of sable and russet. "Have you ever wondered why Aizen had such a sudden and disturbing fixation on Kurosaki Ichigo? He orchestrated his birth, watched over him all those years. Does it not seem strange to you?"

"You're saying the hado was the _cause_ of this interest."

"Perhaps. We will never know. And our reaction to Ichigo's _ryoka invasion_ was rather muted. I for one remember that you and I were somehow half-convinced of his innocence. And we trusted him with too great a burden – saving Rukia when he didn't even have shikai – than was strictly logical." Ukitake's nail reaches the very center of the wood knot.

_Circles within circles._

Kyouraku is silent for a while. Then he asks, "Has there been any change over at the Fourth?"

Ukitake grimaces, fingers clenching. "None. It's been three days now, and nothing. He won't wake. Rukia's not left his bedside – I've had a hard time convincing her brother from pulling her back home for some rest."

Kyouraku sighs again. "Three days only? It feels longer. Even yesterday's Academy Graduation was muted – you could tell no one was into it, Juushiro." He stops for a moment. "Why is it the children that suffer our mistakes?"

Ukitake has no answer for him. Together, the two watch the garden die from autumn to winter.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The first thing that he is aware of is that his wrists feel really light, for some reason. Around him is a sea of black, no ripples or cracks breaking the smooth surface. All is dark, careful, cocooned, quiet.

He likes it.

He isn't quite sure how much time has passed. Sometimes he thinks it is an eternity, this calming, serene plane of blackness, wandering where there is no self and no other. Other times he thinks it is just a second, and he is drifting suspended in empty space, trapped and unable to wake.

He doesn't like that.

He tries to think about his options. The darkness is nice. It seems like there is no pain, or discomfort there. And no one to disturb him. But then again, the sable nothingness is a bit daunting – it really does feel like if he lets go, then it might be, well, _forever_. Does he want that? He doesn't know.

A peal of laughter like tinkling wind chimes, delicate and fleeting, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. It sounds like an angel.

He frowns. Who is that? That's a nice laugh. He would like to hear it again.

But there is silence in the darkness now. He starts to feel a modicum of fear. What if he remains here, and never hears that voice again?

Then it comes to him, and suddenly he sees a beautiful shade of violet, amethyst clear. _Wake up, baka._

Who is _baka_? Is it himself? Who _is_ he, anyway?

_Wake up, tawake!_ That lovely laugh again.

Alright, then.

And so Kurosaki Ichigo wakes.

Sunlight filters through his closed eyelids, yellow and orange through his eyelashes. His back is against sheets that are warm and soft, his head resting comfortably against a cool pillow. There is an understated, regular beeping of some machinery or the other beside him. He doesn't know why it's there, but he can't really bring himself to care.

Ichigo takes a moment to soak in the feeling. Has he _ever_ been so comfortable?

But just as the thought enters his mind, he becomes aware of the fact that breathing is a bit difficult. Every rise and fall of his chest brings a small twinge of pain that starts near his heart and spikes down his spine. Trying not to panic, he slows his breaths, and finds it a little easier to get air into his lungs.

Ichigo tries to open his eyes. It is surprisingly difficult, almost as if someone has hung weight on his eyelids, so that the simple action of revealing his irises takes as much effort as pulling himself up from the ground after a hard training session. After an age, the first modicum of light drifts through his eyelashes like a golden bar of dust.

His vision is quite fuzzy at first, but a few heavy blinks later, it all comes into focus, like when one first awakens from a dream.

The half-open window is like a skylight to sunny warmth, golden yellow ribbons of light streaming unhindered through the gap. The walls are clean, and sterile white, and so is the bed that he lies on; but the smell of late autumn that drifts lazily into the space gives the small room a welcoming glow. The window only illuminates half the room; the other half is cast in cool shadow from the closed door.

_Why am I here?_

Moving his head in slow increments, Ichigo manages to maneuver his line of vision so he can see the rest of the room.

He stops breathing for a moment.

For slumped in a small, sleeping heap in a chair at his bedside, a russet-gold autumn haori too large for her draped over her shoulders, sunlight catching the edge of her eyebrows and gilding the tips of her fringe, is Rukia. Her hair falls over behind her as she snores softly. Hidden in the half-light, her face is luminescent gold. Her petite hands are bandaged tightly with wound white strips, crisscrossing over her wrists and coming up to the base of her fingers.

Rukia is holding Ichigo's hands tightly, fingers gripping his own. Even in her sleep, her grip does not slacken, and she rests curled protectively over their joined hands, almost slipping off her chair. His hands are similarly bound, in layer upon layer of bandages.

_My wrists? Why – _

And the events of the past few days come rushing back in a tumultuous wave. _Urahara portal Byakuya Kaien Aizen cuffs Sokyoku Gin Rukia – _and he remembers that horrifying, heart-stopping moment, as he fell like lightning from the sky and saw Gin's sword flying like a deadly spear towards her small form, and the look in her eyes of death approaching, and the one, last, overwhelming thought that he _must reach Rukia_. He remembers how he had taken the blow like a thundering punch to the back of his chest, and the feeling of ridiculous relief that she was safe.

_So that's why my chest hurts._

Ichigo looks at her now, and marvels at how wonderfully exquisite this single, calm moment is. The present image of Rukia is like a watercolour painting, brushes of auburn and white and orange and yellow, all timelessness and eternity captured in this one, striking picture. He wonders how he couldn't have seen it before, the simple truth – at that moment, when the fear of losing her had blacked out his vision and choked his breath and tore at his heart, he had known, and now knows, that to him, she is the most precious thing in the world. There is no comparison. The thought of losing her had nearly ripped his soul out.

Rukia sleeps on, beautifully unaware, sunlight slowly dancing across her face. Ichigo just looks at her, too tired and too gloriously happy to do anything else. He wants to reach out and brush that strand of hair away from her cheek, to check if she is really there, to make sure that she is not some half-remembered angel created by his memory. But she looks so delicate, almost like crafted porcelain, he is afraid that by a mere touch, she would melt away into nothing. Ichigo doesn't really think she's a ghost. He doesn't think he has the capability to imagine her to such perfection.

Ichigo tries to stretch out a hand, but his arm feels too heavy. He only manages a small twitch of his fingers, brushing against Rukia's bandaged wrists.

But it is enough.

With a small snuffle that is almost a sneeze, Rukia shifts awake. Her fingers tighten against his, and she lets go with one hand momentarily to rub sleepily at her lidded eyes.

Is it possible to temporarily forget the exact shade of someone's eyes? Ichigo had forgotten how stunningly violet Rukia's were.

He tries to smile, and succeeds. He twitches his fingers again. "He…llo," he rasps, voice dry from disuse.

Rukia snaps her head around so quickly her neck c_racks_ painfully. "Oh!" she exclaims both in surprise and pain, eyes wide.

Ichigo tries to suppress a laugh, but it bubbles up and he has to let it through. It hurts quite a bit, and catches in his throat, but he doesn't mind.

"Ichigo!" Rukia says in alarm, snatching a glass of water from the sideboard and tilting his head back to help him drink. A few sips later, the coughing chuckles subside, leaving a dull ache in his chest. She puts down the glass, and they both just look at each other for a moment.

Then he takes her hands in his, and says softly, "Do they hurt? Are you okay?"

A second passes, in which a multitude of emotions fly across Rukia's face, nearly too quickly for him to read. Relief, worry, tiredness, and – anger?

Oh no, it's _that_ face. The prelude to pain.

Rukia takes a breath – and explodes. "Ichigo! How dare you ask after _my_ injuries? You took a blade for me and bled out_ everywhere_ and Unohana-taichou had to use _six_ packets of blood and you were out for_ three whole days_ and they couldn't get you to wake up and you _ask after my injuries?_ Stupid, stupid, stupid baka…" Her hands are shaking on his shoulders now.

Her flailing about actually jostles Ichigo's injuries a bit, and he winces. The moment the sound of pain escapes, she stops with a horrified expression and lets go of him.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I didn't hurt you, did I?" The change is instantaneous. Fear clouds her face, and she clutches the oversized haori closer around her.

Ichigo has to smile. "I'm fine, Rukia," he says quietly. "I'm sorry for being an idiot."

Rukia sits back down with a huff. "You _are_ an idiot," she grouses. But she takes his hands again, with slightly trembling fingers. She ducks her head, her hair shadowing her expression from his view.

"Rukia?" His voice is soft, concerned.

She sniffs, a sound torn between annoyance and hurt. "There – there was a point…when your heart stopped." He still can't see her eyes, but she is holding onto his hands so tightly her nails are digging into the bandages. "Nii-sama wouldn't tell me anything…And I – I couldn't –" She stops suddenly, shoulders rigid.

Ichigo doesn't really know how to respond. So he gathers his strength and raises an arm shaking with effort to reach her chin, tipping it gently so he can see her face. "Hey," he says. "I'm still here."

Rukia's violet eyes are brimming with tears, but she is biting her lip in an attempt to keep them from spilling over. She nods furiously for a moment, as if trying to shake the echo of that memory from her mind. A tear drips on Ichigo's finger.

Ichigo smiles, again that half-joking grin that makes her want to hit him and smile back at the same time, the one that makes her heart beat faster for some inconceivable reason. "I told you we would make it back. I promised, remember? It's my turn to tell you 'I told you so'."

Rukia has to snort at that, smiling tremulously. But she still retains her grip on his hands, as if afraid to let go. Ichigo does the same.

She appears to pull herself together, swallowing. "Urahara managed to explode some sort of high-level memory-modifying kido. Kyouraku-soutaichou thinks that we can assume it worked, considering the boundary between the two worlds is still stable. Nobody from our side sent over was hurt."

Ichigo nods. "I knew that man had something up his sleeve – or in his hat." He looks askance at the beeping machines that he is hooked up to, and says with a touch of irritability, "When can I get off these things?"

Rukia's eyes narrow, and a petite finger points straight at his nose, so he goes cross-eyed just looking at it. "When Unohana-taichou says you can."

"Nehhh, I hate machines like that –"

"_You have a hole in your chest, Ichigo!_"

"Psshh. Done that before. 'm alright."

"You _will_ stay in this room until _I_ give you permission, or so help me I will kill you myself." Rukia's eyes flash dangerously, haori swinging as she looms over him.

Ichigo looks at her, all four feet nine inches of thunderous authority, towering over his helpless self, blazing with righteous indignation. And he smiles. Maybe it would be good to follow her orders, just this once. "Alright, then," he says plainly.

"Don't you –" Rukia begins, gesturing angrily, then pauses. "What?" she says, stunned by his compliance.

"Sure, ma'am. Anything you say, ma'am." Ichigo is the model of sweet innocence.

Rukia's face darkens. "_Are you mocking me, Kurosaki-taichou?_"

_Er. Backfire. Crap._

"No…?" He ventures in a squeak. He tries to shuffle backwards to the wall, but his injuries render him motionless. _Zangetsu? Help me!_ The sword snickers once, and is silent.

Rukia's hand is creeping towards Sode no Shirayuki, the sword leaning against the bedside table.

In a scramble for words, he manages to hold up both hands in a placating gesture. "No, really! I just thought, since you were worried and all, I wouldn't argue or anything!"

Her hand stops a millimeter from Sode no Shirayuki's hilt. "Really?" she says, gaze drilling into him.

"Yeah," he says truthfully.

"Hmph," she says, reaching down at him.

Ichigo braces himself for a slap, or at least a painful flick. But instead, he feels his blankets being drawn up to his shoulders from where they had fallen during their near-confrontation. He blinks up at her in surprise.

"You're going to follow my orders, right?" Rukia says bluntly, somehow looking threatening even when swamped by what is undoubtedly one of her brother's haori.

"Yes, midget," he says with a weary laugh.

"Good. Here's the first one. Go back to sleep."

"_What? _ But I just woke up!" he complains.

"From a three-day coma. You need your rest." Her tone brooks no argument.

"But I'm not even tired –" at this point, his body betrays him and he breaks into a gigantic yawn, causing his chest to twinge.

"My point is proven. Now close your eyes and be good. Sleep."

"But…" Ichigo doesn't know how to tell her. He wants to just lie there and look at her, because if she is in front of him then he knows that she is safe. He doesn't want to close his eyes – what if she is gone when he wakes, and this is all a dream?

Rukia reads something hidden in his expression, and her eyes soften. "Baka. I'll be right here." Her tone hardens again. "Now _go to sleep_."

Grumbling, Ichigo shuts his eyes, cutting off the sight of the afternoon rays glancing off Rukia's face. But the next moment, her hand takes his again, and her fingers rest in his hair. Comforted, and despite his valiant efforts to stay awake, he begins to drift off, his breathing evening out.

Somewhere in the timeless realm that is halfway between sleep and wakefulness, he feels someone kiss him lightly.

_Phwah?_

The shock of it jerks him back into the living world, and his eyes flutter open a mere crack to see Rukia bent over him, a funny little smile on her face, showing no indication that she knows he is awake. "Thank you for coming back to me," she whispers quietly.

Ichigo's heart is hammering in his chest. _Was that real? _Did he imagine it?

She is still close enough…with only a moment's hesitation, he smiles, and leans forward to kiss her gently.

She makes a small squeak of surprise.

Neither of them is aware of the patter of approaching feet, as a young girl's voice calls out from outside the door. "Rukia-nee, Rukia-nee! Has there been any change? Is Nii-san awake ye–"

The door creaks open to reveal Kurosaki Yuzu in full shinigami shihakushuo, halfway through the doorframe, mouth frozen in a half-sentence.

Ichigo and Rukia break apart instantaneously, both blushing a brilliant shade of crimson.

Yuzu blinks several times from shock, a similar scarlet tinge rising in her cheeks. "Oh. Sorry?" she says, feet tapping nervously as she dithers between coming in and backing away.

Then a similar sound of approaching steps announces the arrival of Karin, who skids to a halt with a raised eyebrow at her twin's gaping fish look. "What's up, Yuzu?" she says. Then she turns, and sees Ichigo and Rukia's flaming faces. Her eyes light up at seeing her brother awake, but soon her mouth twists into a snide smile. "Oh, right. First kiss? Sorry to intrude, but it's really about time. Yo, Ichi-nii. Good to see you up. Would you prefer I call Dad now, and get the slobbering tearful reunion out of the way, or later, to prolong your misery?"

And Ichigo laughs out loud, dispelling the awkward atmosphere. He opens his arms and says, "Come here, you two." Grinning, his younger sisters cross the room in one bound and throw themselves in tandem at him, Karin having to tug Yuzu back a bit just before she whams into his injuries. He hugs them as tightly as he can manage, feeling Yuzu's tears dripping down his front, and Karin bury her face into his shoulder. "It's good to see you too," he says softly. "Both proper shinigami now, neh? I'm proud. Sorry I missed your graduation."

"It's okay," both sniffle at the same time. He laughs again, and beside him, Rukia smiles also.

Then there is a thundering outside the door, and all of a sudden Isshin is there, framed in the light of the doorway, something unspeakable in his wide eyes as he leans against the frame, trying to catch his breath.

Ichigo waits patiently for some sort of joking, loud comment. None comes. So he grins instead, wide enough for both of them, and says, "Hi, Tou-san."

And in the next second, Isshin is across the room, barreling into his daughters and son and enveloping them all in a gigantic family hug. Ichigo muffles a groan of pain at the pressure, but Isshin backs off almost immediately, eyes streaming with twin waterworks and the beginnings of a runny nose appearing. "Hello, my son," he says roughly, attempting to swallow his tears and failing majestically, swallowing a booger instead.

"Thanks for getting me, Oyaji," Ichigo says, trying not to laugh.

Isshin's face crumples a bit. At Ichigo's questioning look, he sniffles, scrubbing at his eyes. "I thought since you called me _Tou-san_ a coupla times, you would go back to using it…but if you still prefer _Oyaji_, that's okay."

Ichigo looks at his father, and a dim memory of someone holding him in the darkness surfaces. He smiles softly. He can't really manage to keep up their act in this sort of situation. "I'll call you Tou-san. I think it sounds better."

Isshin's tears could wash the floor clean, so great are their volume. If anyone could pull off an eyes shining, lip trembling, and hands clasping look, it would be Shiba Isshin. "I love you too, Ichi," he warbles.

Ichigo's eyebrows sharpen into a horrified glare. "Not that nickname," he growls.

"But my sonnnnn~!"

"_No._"

Isshin finds this a lost case, and swivels to Rukia, who is trying to suppress laughter behind one hand. "Darling Rukia! I thank you so much for looking after my son during his time of," cue dramatic sigh, "_frailty._"

"OI."

Isshin smirks, and continues. "I just _know_ you'll make him a good wife someday. You're too good for him."

Ichigo blushes an interesting shade of red somewhere between embarrassed and angry. He looks away, even as Rukia blushes also.

Then Ichigo's gigantic yawn saves the day. His family immediately pile on various versions of "Oh no you must sleep now!" with equally varying degrees of intensity – Yuzu actually pushed him under his covers quite forcefully – before clearing out of the room, leaving Ichigo and Rukia alone again.

They smile faintly at each other, and Rukia tucks him in again, quite a natural gesture, now. And Ichigo goes to sleep, with someone singing softly next to his bedside.

Their hands still hold each other tightly, as if never wanting to let go.

* * *

**Right, hope you liked that…and that the IchiRuki was up to scratch. See you guys next chapter – the epilogue, (sniff). **

**Review please! If we can break 500 before the end of this story, I will give you guys all hugs :)**

**Replies to Guest reviews:**** GUYS PLEASE LEAVE NAMED REVIEWS cause I can't differentiate between six "guests".**

**Guest: Thanks for reviewing! Hope you liked it :)**

**Guest: Sure, laugh at Byakuya (I laughed too :) Haha I know it's OP, but it's Bleach. And since Ichigo is the **_**definition**_** of OP, why not give Rukia a chance to kickbutt too? :) Thanks for reviewing!**

**Guest: The deus ex machina basically works in that any person included in it will have all their actions and words etc. wiped away in others' memories. There is a good point about paperwork (whoops) but, well, this is not perfect, so there you go. Thanks for the review!**

**Guest: Thank you so much! Glad you liked the family cuteness – I hope this chapter's family cuteness lived up to scratch as well :)**

**Guest: Aww, I'm sorry, are you okay? I hope it was **_**happy**_** crying :) Thanks for the review, haha :)**

**Guest: Thanks for the review! Did you like this one?**

**Guest: I LOVE YOU. Hahah I've got a twin already (my beta), but who says we can't be triplets? **_**I'm **_**praising the Lord that there is someone like you to read my fanfiction! It is an honour :) **


	15. Chapter 15

**Hi, this is two days late, I do apologize. I have several actually true excuses – one, Fresher's Week is crazy. Even if you don't go to all the parties, you will inevitably return to your room very late and stare at your computer monitor like a zombie, before deciding that either sleep or food or both is more important to your survival. Secondly, I have just gotten my first supervision work for all my subjects. Suffice to say, I will have to read the equivalent of stacks of books a week, plus essays. So this chapter was ground out in little snatches of time, before the real work sets in. AND I'M SORRY that I didn't have time to reply to everyone's reviews. It was reply or write, and I chose to write. I really do appreciate them, I love you guys.**

**So this is…goodbye :) I thank you all so, so much for coming with me through this amazing experience. I hope you like the chapter. **

**Thanks to reviewers: , DLC2904, MugetsuIchigo, Azraelean, Debido, Phantom Claire, JTiberiusKirk, Athena SFM, Jeah, Tsuki no Yukihime, vine, uzuki-chan, Snipaush, KJC2025, Darkest Kurogetsu, ilovebks, La Rosa del Desierto, poooy200, IronEclipse, brialees, Kaihaku no Iroke, tragicmat1, BleachFreak16, Lovely Loree, NarutoLuver896, MerryKitten, .330, WarriorofAnime, ImSeriousBro, The10Espada99, Dashita Tichou, Haeye, Darkkiss15, Chirpy Hitomi chan, NobodyEpic, Qwerty321, Rake1810, Kireina-Ame, Mtmeye, Guest, NiceGoingLife, GhibliGirl91, blades of blood488, DeathsLastBreath, Ariana Deralte.**

**I don't own Bleach except for this story's plot.**

* * *

The servants of the Kuchiki household are nervous again. There is much scuttling and whispering and hiding around corners that cool afternoon, ever since the master's visitor had left in the morning. They are sure it is horrendous news – according to the servant gossip chain, that is. When one's master is as delicately balanced as Kuchiki Byakuya, no matter how calm he _looks_ usually, one learns to read little signs. That afternoon, the sheer number of signs had been positively glaring.

One white-robed servant guarding the front door shakes her head ruefully. Master is not cruel, and his moods have much improved since his deliberate change of attitude ten years ago. But any new servant is informed on no uncertain terms there are times when he should _not_, on _any _account, be disturbed. This is one of those times. The servant crosses her fingers and hopes to high heaven that there will be no more visitors to the Kuchiki mansion today.

_Oh no, forgot to look periodically down the street._

A quick glance shows Rukia-sama walking sedately up the road towards the front doors, dressed in shinigami shihakushuo and Sode no Shirayuki belted at her side. Although more than a week and a half has passed since her escape from the past, she still moves with a certain careful step, the echo of her ordeal not quite gone. Over her shoulders is a beautifully embroidered amethyst over-robe, too warm for autumn, but one wordlessly pressed upon her by the master one breakfast last week. The fact that Rukia-sama holds the over-robe tightly around her shows she is not yet fully recovered.

The servant girl _tsks_ mentally. Rukia-sama looks cold, and still too thin – better to get her inside quickly, and give her something hot to drink. All the servants are rather protective of Rukia-sama, perhaps because the master is too.

Rukia reaches the gate to the Kuchiki complex, and smiles warmly at the servant girl on guard duty. "Hello," she says.

"Welcome back, Rukia-sama," the girl intones with a quick bow and a smile, opening the door wide. "I'll send for something hot, shall I?"

Rukia breathes a sigh of relief as she ducks inside and out of the wind, the high courtyard wall blocking the worst of the breeze. The training grounds had been freezing, wind rushing through the flat plane of grass like a scythe. "Oh no, I'm fine, thank you. Where is Nii-sama? I haven't seen him since dinner last night."

At the mention of Byakuya, the servant girl changes posture immediately. She bites her lip and twists her fingers, grimacing slightly. "Um…he's in the plum garden…but…" she tries.

Rukia frowns, unsettled by that particular reaction and what it could mean. She puts a hand on Sode no Shirayuki unconsciously. "Is something wrong? Has something happened?" she asks worriedly.

"Er…not really. Everything is…fine. If I may, Rukia-sama, I would suggest to leave him alone for a while…"

"Has he thrown a tantrum?" Rukia sighs briskly. _I thought he had grown out of those._

The servant girl's eyes widen. "Oh, no, Rukia-sama! He has been perfectly kind. You see, he had a caller this morning – clan business – and afterwards he tried to hide it but, well, we could tell he wasn't in a good mood."

Rukia tilts her head. _How did you know?_

The girl sees the unspoken question, and wriggles uncomfortably. "He's drinking tea in the garden."

_That's normal._

The girl twists her fingers into knots. "Uh, he's on his second pot, and it's only been two hours."

_Oh._ Byakuya doesn't drink sake or lose his worries in alcohol. He drinks tea. In moderation, because he is cultured, and refined. Binging on tea is basically an indication of extreme stress.

Rukia sighs. "It's alright," she says. "I'll go find out what's wrong." _It can't be _that_ bad, can it?_ she thinks as she turns on one heel to head towards the plum blossom garden. She steps lightly through the shadowed corridors, the late autumn scent drifting in the air.

As she silently turns the corner to the plum garden, she stops. The plum trees are not yet flowering – it is too early for that – but the courtyard still possesses a sort of timeless beauty, its gravel paths solemn and dignified under the dappled light sifting through the branches above. Her Nii-sama sits on the edge of the porch, haori flowing behind him, head resting against a wooden pillar to look at where in a few weeks a thousand silver-pink flowers will bloom. One hand rests over a cup of tea, coils of opalescent steam flowing from the surface.

Rukia looks closer, and stares. _Is that Hisana-nee's tea set?_

Yes it is. Her favourite before her passing, a beautifully engraved white china set with twisting plum blossoms winding around the base and edge. The tea set was never used in Rukia's memory – it always sat in Nii-sama's bedroom on the shelf, lovingly cleaned but never touched.

Rukia shivers in trepidation. The news must be really, _really_ bad. She must have made some small noise, because Byakuya turns his head and locks steel-grey eyes with hers.

"Nii-sama," she says softly, worried.

He sighs, then reaches out a hand. Rukia comes forward immediately with a light patter of feet, and takes it gently, sitting next to him. He smiles faintly, and turns his gaze again on the nonexistent plum blossoms.

Even after decades, she still finds it difficult to read her Nii-sama. His reserve is one of his greatest defenses, and is famed throughout Seireitei for a reason. But now, she thinks his eyes hide some deep sadness. She will wait for him to speak. It is her place, and he will tell her if he wants to.

Then his voice, even, but with a touch of weariness underlying it. "Are you cold, Rukia?" His gaze has not moved from the tree branches.

"I'm fine, Nii-sama." In truth, she is a _little_ cold. Somehow her ordeal in the past had weakened her so that the incoming frost bites a little deeper than before.

A rustle of cloth, and Byakuya's pristine captain's haori drifts to land around her, wrapping her small form in its voluminous folds of white. Rukia colours slightly, but knows the significance of the honour. The haori is not just any piece of cloth – it is the weight of her brother's station, rank, and command. "Thank you," she says reverently.

Byakuya does not answer, but pours out a second cup of steaming hot tea, and hands it to her. Rukia's hands shake slightly as she accepts. It is Hisana's tea cup. The tea leaves inside the brim dance and whirl on a hidden current. The smooth porcelain warms her fingers.

An indeterminable amount of time passes, in which they watch the sky changing colour wordlessly, sipping tea together.

Byakuya reaches out for Rukia's hand, fingers hovering just above her wrists, where there are bandages no more, but mottled scarring, a pattern of reiatsu currents and searing metal, as if part of the sea was imprinted on her skin. "Rukia." His tone is quiet.

"Yes, Nii-sama?"

"Was I there, when they placed the abominable things on you?"

Rukia frowns slightly, looking up to find Byakuya gazing intently at her. "You were, Nii-sama," she says. She finds no reason to lie.

Byakuya grips his tea cup with clenched fingers. "And I condoned it? I supported their actions towards you?"

Rukia is confused, now. "No! You didn't…" she trails off, turning away. She can still remember the waves of agony that flooded her as the cuffs had snapped into place, the ache for someone to hold her and to comfort her, and feeling her Nii-sama step coldly away from her writhing form. It had hurt, like a knife to the heart. The hard kernel of memory still pains her.

Some of her emotions must have shown on her face, for Byakuya says in a toneless sort of way, "So. I did not condone their reasoning, but I stood by and did nothing." His gaze is far away, in the past.

The concealed self-hatred in those words spurs Rukia to speech. "Nii-sama, it was the law, there was little you could have done –"

That was the wrong thing to say.

A ghost of white-hot pain flashes across her Nii-sama's expression, and his face closes. Many of his past regrets have been due to his determination to _follow the law._ The last time he had done so, they had both nearly died on Sokyoku Hill.

Rukia shakes her head. "Nii-sama. Please don't blame yourself."

Byakuya hardly reacts, face as unreadable as stone. His tea has gone cold, held in white fingers.

Rukia's small fingers grip his hands gently. "Nii-sama," she says softly, although there is a touch of steel in her words.

He still does not respond.

Then she stands fluidly, still holding his hands, stepping off the porch and walking to stand in front of Byakuya, so he is forced to meet her gaze.

Byakuya shifts, and takes her wrists in his own hands, setting his tea aside. "Am I responsible for these scars?" he asks directly, emotionlessly.

Rukia sighs. She knows that her brother pulls that façade on as an automatic defense mechanism, trained into him from his childhood days. _If no one can see your heart, you are invulnerable._ He had only ever let one person to truly see past that mask. Her sister, Hisana.

But now, Rukia can see the concealed pain hidden away in those grey eyes. "I had forgiven you long ago," she says earnestly.

He still does not answer, but the unspoken question remains. _Even after all I have done?_

Rukia crouches, so their faces are level. "_He_ was not my Nii-sama yet. _You_ are my Nii-sama." His haori pools about her, making her seem like a violet-eyed flower surrounded by white petals lined with gold.

And something tense and knotted inside Byakuya seems to melt away, as he sighs, dipping his head slightly. Then he gathers himself, wiping the sense of _relief_ into refined restraint as he helps her back to her place next to him, refilling her cup for her. A corner of Rukia's mouth lifts as she shakes her head ruefully. _That's_ her Nii-sama.

They sit calmly, a little closer than the exact distance as required by noble formality, in the almost-sunset serenity that washes over the garden.

After a time, Rukia tilts her head almost teasingly, and says with an undercurrent of laughter, "Nii-sama, who called on you this morning, to put you in such a happy mood?" She had been expecting him to scowl – well, his signature annoyed lift of his eyebrows, anyway – but instead of complaining elegantly about clan politics, Byakuya seems to shiver, and emanates such an atmosphere of sombre seriousness that Rukia is secretly alarmed. "Was it that bad, Nii-sama? Does it endanger the Kuchiki clan?"

Byakuya turns to face her, staring at her and saying nothing. Rukia shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. Then he speaks, slowly, as if carefully picking his words from the recesses of his thoughts. "Rukia, when they fixed the cuffs on you, I wasn't there for you. Was Kurosaki Ichigo?"

The question is so undeniably plucked out from thin air, Rukia is momentarily bewildered. What has that got to do with her question?

Her Nii-sama is still expectantly waiting for an answer, and she fumbles for a reply. "Yes, of course – I mean, he was." She remembers the feeling of arms holding her tight even as the world spun sickeningly. Rooting her in place. She half-smiles despite herself, looking aside.

Byakuya catches her expression, and if possible, he looks even more upset. In fact, his lower lip is suspiciously close to a _pout_. Rukia frowns at him. She doesn't understand this conversation at all. "Why are we talking about this, Nii-sama?" she asks.

Byakuya says nothing for a while, just looking at her with that expression she can't figure out, something between unhappy and a reserved sort of sulking. Then he seems to shake himself deliberately, and sighs. "Rukia."

"Yes, Nii-sama?"

"Will you answer me one thing, truthfully?" His long hair rustles in a sudden breeze, hiding his face.

"Of course," she replies, surprised.

Byakuya looks straight into her eyes. "Do you love Kurosaki Ichigo?"

The question hits her like a punch to the chest, winding her for a second and rendering her breathless. Her heart beats wildly, and her cheeks bloom a deeper pink than the plum blossoms that will soon come in winter. _Why did Nii-sama suddenly ask that? _"I – I – " she stutters. Then a calming rush of peace floods her as she finds her answer, one that has concealed itself long in the archways and hideaways of her heart. She looks back into her Nii-sama's eyes with a singular determination. "I do," she says simply. "I do love him." She doesn't think she has any more words to describe the place Ichigo holds in her soul. If she tries, she thinks her heart might burst.

Her answer seems to pain Byakuya, and he winces as if actually taking a physical blow. He runs a hand over his eyes, and sighs again, deeply, a sigh of resignation. "Fine," he says curtly. "You have my blessing."

_What? _ Rukia thinks, baffled. "What?" she says, echoing her thoughts.

Byakuya takes her fingers with one hand, and the other goes to her cheek. The sudden warmth of the gesture surprises her, but she soon accepts this abrupt sign of affection without complaint.

"Rukia," Byakuya says quietly. "The visitor this morning was none other than Kurosaki Ichigo."

Rukia blinks. "But – I thought it was clan business, wasn't it?"

Byakuya scoffs, eyebrows lifting sardonically. "It _was_ clan business."

Rukia doesn't understand. She just waits for her Nii-sama to explain.

Byakuya's hand is gentle against her cheek. "Rukia," he says with a hint of exasperated weariness, "he asked for my permission to court you. Officially. As the heir to the Kurosaki-Shiba clan."

_Oh._ "Oh," she says, mouse-like, eyes wide.

"Yes, Rukia," Byakuya continues, "I told him that I would first seek out your thoughts on the matter. With this, I have now given him my consent. If he should succeed, I shall – heaven forbid – have more than one soul in Seireitei calling me _Nii-sama_."

"Oh," Rukia says yet again, heart beating rapidly and in a mild state of shock. She grabs onto her Nii-sama's hand like a lifeline.

"I have made it clear to him his responsibility towards you, and my absolute resolve that _should he hurt you_, there will be consequences. Your safety and happiness are paramount. Kurosaki Ichigo, on the other hand, I care not for." His hands are warm around hers.

Rukia finally finds her speech. "Th-Thank you, Nii-sama," she says breathlessly, stunned. A wild joy rises in her heart.

Byakuya lets go of her hands with a touch of reluctance, and says, "I would hope he cares for you well." He looks away.

Then finally, Rukia laughs, a happy sound of delight. She scrambles to her feet, nearly tripping over his haori. "Nii-sama," she says playfully.

"Yes?" Trying to hide his unhappiness behind a veil of sarcasm.

"Ichigo is Ichigo. But you will be my Nii-sama forever. Thank you." And with those blithe words, she swoops down and kisses his cheek lightly, before handing him his haori and flitting away around the corner.

It is Byakuya's turn to be stunned. He raises trembling fingers to the spot where she kissed him, dumbfounded. Then he places his teacup very firmly back on the tray, and drinks no more. He doesn't need anymore.

Rukia had always had such a way with words.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

Everything in the world is glorious, everything wonderful, everything delightful, everything magnified to ten times its own exquisite beauty in the rush of wind that streams past her face and into her hair and whirls past her in her jetstream of shunpo. The afternoon light is decadent, warming her shihakushuo and glinting off her fukutaichou's badge, liquid gold; the growing chill of soon-to-be winter parts before her like a river of silver.

Rukia homes in on Ichigo's reiatsu signature almost reflexively, feet dancing over thin air, Sode no Shirayuki smiling gently inside her consciousness. Her shihakushuo sleeves fly in sweeps as she turns corners and flips over obstacles at breakneck speed.

A bottleneck alley, then a sudden sharp corner, and she comes across an entire squad of the Eleventh Division filling up the street from end to end, war cries and clashes of metal sounding out from training teams. Without enough time to stop, and with a slightly giddy feeling of recklessness bubbling inside of her, Rukia skids elegantly under a crossed pair of zanpakutuos, gloved white hands just nicking the crossguards. The startled shouts of the two shinigami behind trail after a burst of laughter that escapes from her lips. A quick patter of feet, and she flips head over heels in a brilliant arc over the next nest of sword points, her Nii-sama's shunpo mixing seamlessly with Ichigo's hakuda; she ducks her head, flicks out a hand to catch a lamp post, and slips past like a sparrow through a crisscrossed net of branches.

Half the street is pure carnage, now. All the kata forms are thrown into disarray, everything is a messy mass of shihakushuo and zanpakutuo. Rukia smothers a smile behind her gloved hand. _Nii-sama would not approve._ But she can imagine the hint of a smile that would flit across his face, and the slight twitch of an eyebrow at the annoyance caused to the Eleventh.

Then Ikkaku's bald head looms right ahead, and Yumichika's squeals loudly as he darts out of Rukia's way.

"Crazy pink-headed fukutaichou – wait a sec - Kuchiki!?" Ikkaku roars in surprise. "What in high heaven are you doing?"

"Sorry!" Rukia laughs over her shoulder, her speech tossed upon the wind, as she flicks her zanpakutuo and vaults over the next building, disappearing over the ledge.

"Now I've seen everything," Ikkaku says disbelievingly, rubbing his eyes.

A wail sounds from behind him. "I – I broke a naaail!" Yumichika sobs.

Disaster.

A blazing trail of chaos is left behind in Rukia's steps.

Still suppressing a smile, she runs onwards, darting over rooftops, feet barely brushing brick and wood. And with a rush like an unveiling curtain, the streets open up before her to an expansive training ground, emerald green and rustling in the breeze. There, next to a tall evergreen tree in the center of the field, captain's haori swinging gently, his back to her, is Ichigo. Zangetsu lies propped up on the tree roots.

Rukia dances forward like a pebble skipping over a plane of clear water, shunpo gliding her steps with a scythe of wind. Without giving herself time to ponder exactly how out of character her actions are, she barrels into Ichigo from behind.

"_Ooof!_" Ichigo is slammed forward, nearly falling over from the force of Rukia's embrace. His hand is almost around Zangetsu's hilt before her laugh, muffled into his haori, reaches his ears. She clings to him, burying her face into the silky white of the haori. The sifted light through the leaves patterns them with dappled jasmine green.

"Errr…Rukia? Is something wrong?" Ichigo says, unsure and a little bit unnerved by Rukia's sudden display of affection. She is not one to openly show her feelings through gestures like this. This is _very_ strange behaviour for her.

Rukia shakes her head, letting go momentarily only to scramble around to glomp him into a proper hug. Ichigo doesn't get it, at all. But his arms come up to hold her anyway.

Rukia finally lifts her face, and her smile is like a ray of sunshine. "Nii-sama said yes, Ichigo. He gave us his consent." She goes pink for a moment. "Thank you for asking him…you could have told me first, you know."

Ichigo grins widely, and holds her tighter. But then his eyes flick suddenly to the side, and a strange apologetic expression comes over his face.

Rukia tilts her head, frowning. "Ichigo?"

A half-embarrassed cough from beside the tree.

Rukia freezes. She knows that cough.

_Renji?_

_Oh no._

"Renji!" Rukia squeaks, and pushes Ichigo away with a sharp shove, going beetroot red in the space of a second. "I – I didn't see you there!" She wants to sink into the ground and disappear. Rukia knows full well that Renji had used to like her. In fact, she is unsure whether he still does – the subject has always been somehow off-limits for them, especially after Ichigo had come into their lives.

Renji, hair done up in a ponytail and dressed neatly in shihakushuo and badge, shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. He looks mostly embarrassed, but there is a hidden pain and something more like envy in his eyes. "Hello, Rukia," he manages.

Besides her, Ichigo moves to grasp her hand gently. She returns his grip without even thinking, wrapping her fingers around his, before she remembers and shoots him a sharp look. _What are you doing?_ She knows Ichigo, and Ichigo is not cruel. If he knew of Renji's…interest, then why is he rubbing it in? Renji remains her best friend, bar Ichigo, and she would not see him hurt.

But before she can do more than glare at Ichigo, a hand comes to rest on her shoulder. She looks up, to find Renji standing next to her, having silently shunpo-ed to her side.

"It's okay, Rukia," Renji says in a carefully restrained tone. "We were almost done talking, anyway." He flicks a look at Ichigo, who actually inclines his head in a gesture of respect, and thanks. Rukia's eyebrow lifts questioningly at Renji's expression. She doesn't understand. And with that, Renji turns to go in a swift twirl of black and white, hand on Zabimaru's hilt.

_I cannot let him go like this. _Rukia lets go of Ichigo's hand to grasp at Renji's sleeve, halting him in his tracks. "Renji, I –" she doesn't know what to say. "I'm sorry," she says softly, violet eyes trying to make him understand. Her great happiness is marred by this one fact, that by her joy with Ichigo, she has inevitably hurt her best friend.

But then Renji's face softens into something more real, less hardened. He smiles at her, a smile of sad acceptance. "Don't be," he says quietly. "Please be happy. I wish you well." His hand comes to rest over hers, then pulls her fingers from his sleeve gently. "I will be well, also." His gaze reaches past her to give Ichigo a hard look. _You'd better take care of her._ There is none of that joking sarcasm that usually laces his tone, now.

Rukia just nods, as he turns and shunpos into the wind, red hair flying behind him.

The grass whirls in the breeze gathered by his steps, causing Rukia to shiver and draw her haori tighter. _Renji…_

Then Ichigo's arms are secure around her, holding her safe in the sudden storm inside her heart. _Where there is joy, there is always pain._ She just rests her head on his haori, hearing his heart beat in a measured, calming rhythm against her ear. She does not need to say anything. After a moment, he presses a kiss on the top of her head. The gesture is like a warm current in her soul. Ichigo understands, and offers all the comfort he can, shielding her from the cold both within and without.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

A new day over Seireitei. The shinigami academy shines white and resplendent, stately buildings emanating a sort of towering gravitas that comes from two thousand years of churning out fresh new shinigami recruits. It is just that time of day when the rays of the winter sun have barely burnt off the biting edge of cold that seeps across the sky, almost full noon. It is still bitterly cold, though, and any shinigami instructor with a modicum of mercy would not send the students out into the windswept yard, where gusts of frigid air race across the open space.

But as all students know, the old veteran they secretly call _Mustache-san_ has no mercy. Nobody really knows where his nickname came from, it had just popped into existence about half a century ago. But no matter, the centuries-old mustache had stayed in place, and so had his nefarious nickname.

The first-year students grumble and moan and shiver amongst themselves as they file in their dozens out to the training field under the watchful eye of Mustache-san, clutching at their new asauchis and almost every one pouting.

"It's too _coooold_…"

"He's torturing us. Is that even allowed?"

"We're _first-years_, give us a break!"

And then Mustache-san's roar, loud enough (in legend) to have once frightened a Gillian-class hollow into _running away_, breaks like a crashing tsunami over the crowd of rookies.

"_GET IN LINE, YOU SLACK-JAWED IDIOTS! ARE YOU HERE TO BECOME SHINIGAMI OR NOT? AFRAID OF A LITTLE CHILL, ARE YOU? SHOULD I WRAP YOU ALL UP IN BABY BLANKETS AND PUT YOU IN FRONT OF A FIRE?"_

That shuts up most of the students, although one or two still grumble in the back.

Mustache-san cracks the scabbard of his zanpakutuo against the ground, finally shocking the rookies into attention. "Since you're all apparently _freezing_, we'll be doing an intensive houhou training session today! Let's see how _cold_ you lot are after your three hundredth shunpo, eh?"

The students are too dismayed to even groan. But they know the drill, and line up on either side of the courtyard, faces scrunched up in concentration as they prepare to perform a basic shunpo. They sink into the first basic stance, a foot awry here, balance a little off there.

Mustache-san's mustache twitches. Then he takes a breath, and shouts, "_One!_"

And all hell breaks loose.

Several students fail to even manage a single step, instead flailing their arms wildly before tripping over their asauchi and smacking into the ground. Around a dozen put out a foot and just leap forward really fast, springing comically into the air and looking wonderfully pleased with themselves before the raucous laughter of their peers turns their happiness to embarrassment. A couple students actually fall _backwards_, having lost their balance before they could even try to shunpo.

Mustache-san sighs, and tries not to walk to the nearest wall and start banging his head against it. _Rookies._ The best and brightest of all those that applied for the academy. Bright souls.

_Idiots._

A single student actually makes a passable shunpo, appearing right next to the instructor with a very surprised look on his face.

"Not bad, Mr –"

The student, unused to the rapid deceleration that comes with a shunpo landing, screams and falls flat on his face, making a human-sized impression in the dust.

Mustache-san grips the bridge of his nose and tries not to cry. Why he has occupied this job for over a century is unknown even to him. He _really_ needs to retire. "AGAIN! IN LINE!" he growls through his teeth at the vaguely abashed students.

The students shuffle into a weak imitation of a line, and try again. And again. And again.

Soon Mustache-san gives up any semblance of order and allows the students to mill over the field, occasionally looking up at a scream or two when someone fails a shunpo. There is no point training them in concert, at the moment. Until they master the basics, it is lunacy to expect them to train as a group.

_Yelp. Splat._

_Yelp. Crunch._

_Yelp. Wail._

Then that one student, dust and dirt in streaks across his face, flits forward and completes a small, but perfect, twenty-foot shunpo, landing crouched and tense, eyes closed.

Silence falls on the field, even as the student opens his eyes and spreads his arms in a gesture of unhindered triumph.

Then the students shift as one, and promptly explode. "YAYYYYYYY!" The successful student is mobbed and clapped on the back.

_That's it._ "IDIOTS!" roars Mustache-san, shaking his fist. "Congratulations! You're all dead, in the hollow attack. Killed instantly. And YOU," here he points at the student, "is going to die equally as painfully as the hollow catches up to you in the next thirty seconds. SO BY ALL MEANS, _CELEBRATE!_"

The cheering stops instantly.

"If you want to see a REAL shunpo, I suggest you take a trip into Seireitei and see what your SEATED OFFICERS do, hmm? Or even better, seek out a CAPTAIN, and see how measly and ridiculous your little _victory_ is –"

But he does not finish his sentence, for at that moment, the atmosphere shivers, and the ground trembles under a colossal mass of reiatsu, riding towards them from the east like a brewing storm front, seeming to tremble with shards of ice and frost. Flowing beside the ice is another reiatsu of an even greater magnitude, sharp and black, crackling like liquid lightning, setting the sky afire.

The students barely have time to feel nauseous before the howling whistle of an oncoming gale drowns out all other sound, freezing the air with slivers of frost.

"TAKE COVE –" someone yells, voice stolen by the wind.

And something like a white-clothed angel descends from the clouds, falling as the wind flutters its robes in a long trail after it. Behind, a streak of black lightning tears after it, sable reiatsu twisting across the sky.

Impact, in the very center of the field.

A rush of icy wind, a thousand needles jabbing at faces and hands, followed by a wave of black reiatsu so thick it blocks out the wintry sun. The students are blinded and deafened at the same time, trying to hide behind one another as they shield their faces with the sleeves of their uniforms, squinting at the center of the reiatsu maelstrom.

A whisper of a real breeze, and the vortex of black and white is swept away, revealing two figures.

Kurosaki Ichigo's haori floats about his ankles, ripping in the wind, glowing in the light, and his zanpakutuo gleams long and deadly in his palm. He seems to be trying to hold back laughter as he looks down at the blushing Kuchiki Rukia held gently in his arms, resplendent in her bankai cloak and crown, iridescent colour shimmering in waves of ice and pure white over the liquid fabric.

The entire field is silent, most awed and some a little frightened.

"Are you all right, Rukia?" Ichigo's laughing question breaks the silence, as he smiles down at her.

Rukia uncurls her fingers from his haori, and says in a slightly shaky voice, "Yes. I'm sorry, I lost control of Sode no Shirayuki's winds for a moment. Thanks for catching me." Ichigo's smile widens, and Rukia's blush deepens.

Moustache-san rolls his eyes. _Young people in love, deaf to the world._ He clears his throat very obviously.

Instead of starting in surprise, Ichigo raises his voice and says clearly, "Sorry, ah," he takes a quick look at the field, "rookies. Bit of a bankai-testing mishap, nothing to worry about. Sorry to disturb your training." At the word _bankai_, whispers break out all over the field.

Rukia seems to recover herself in a moment, twisting her head around in some alarm to see the entire field of students watching them. "Ichigo," she begins, tugging sharply at his collar.

"Yes, Rukia?" Ichigo says genially, eyes dancing with mirth.

"Put me down, please."

Ichigo tilts his head. "Let's see…no." He is going to laugh any moment.

The next second, Sode no Shirayuki's white-wreathed tip is next to his neck. "Put me down, Ichigo," Rukia says evenly, giving him a level look.

Ichigo reads that look. It is the definitive _I-am-politely-asking-but-if-you-cross-me-I-will-ki ll-you _Rukia look. After an exceedingly short time of contemptlation, Ichigo decides to comply, and quickly. He crouches and gently lets her down.

"Thank you, Ichigo," Rukia says evenly, as if thanking him for handing her a cup of tea. But Ichigo winces. He knows he will pay for that later. Probably with paperwork.

Around them, the students' whispers float towards them. _It's Kurosaki-taichou and Kuchiki-fukutaichou! Bankai? That's amazing… Can you feel how much reiatsu they have? Hey, I heard they're _together _together now! That is sooo sweet!_

Something in the air freezes with a _snap_. Rukia has not moved, but somehow the spikes on her crown have flared, and the winds are curling about her feet.

The whispering stops immediately.

Ichigo turns, and grins when he sees the instructor across the field. "Mustache-san!" he calls out, waving.

The students choke back shocked laughter. Nobody has ever said it to his face before.

Mustache-san is livid. "_What_ did you call me, Kurosaki-_taichou_?"

Ichigo seems to disappear from his place, appearing in an eyeblink to where the instructor is. The students take an awed breath as one. Ichigo had weaved through the students like the shadow of lightning, ghosting past them in a whirl blinding white and orange, too fast to be seen, too lightly to be heard. _This_ is shunpo.

"Mustache-san, it's good to see you again! I met you last month! Er, fifty years for you…but you've held the years well, so…"

"I don't recall having met you, Kurosaki-taichou."

Ichigo pauses, then laughs. "Of course you don't. Urahara did a good job, then."

Mustache-san and the students stare blankly at the captain, bewildered. Ichigo turns with a deft twist of his haori, and another eyeblink later, he has a hand on Rukia's shoulder.

"How about a race, Rukia?" he says, warm brown eyes sardonic.

Rukia narrows her eyes. "To where?"

"My office door. Whoever gets to the door first wins."

Rukia taps a foot. "No bankai for you," she says, the beginnings of a smile appearing on her face.

"And nothing but Sode no Shirayuki's bankai winds for you – no cheating with shunpo."

"Done," Rukia says, flicking her sword at the ground. A huge gust of white-ice wind gouges out a perfectly straight trench into the dirt, twenty feet long. A starting line.

Ichigo walks gracefully to stand beside her. Although he is taller, the intricate spikes of Rukia's crown amplify her height. His white haori shines just as gloriously as the sunlight glancing off her cape.

The two share a look. To others, it is just a look of affirmation, a handshake before a race. But there is something deeper in that brown gaze, and those violet eyes – an understanding, a closeness, and inseparable confidence.

"A countdown, please, Mustache-san," Ichigo calls nonchalantly over his shoulder, flicking his haori out of Zangetsu's way.

A tic appears on Mustache-san forehead, but this is a captain talking to him. So grudgingly, he starts counting.

_Three._

The taichou and fukutaichou crouch almost imperceptibly, Ichigo's fingers gripping Zangetsu tighty, eyes fixed on the far distance. A determined shine comes over Rukia's eyes, and a corner of her mouth lifts. Something shifts in Rukia's cape, and it dances upon an unseen wind. The light scattering off her diamond mantle paints the ground and the air around her with shining droplets.

_Two._

Ichigo's feet are suddenly wreathed in black reiatsu, curling shadows flickering with power. The air whips so violently around Rukia that the tips of her sandaled feet are actually hovering off the ground, and she is held lightly by the wind alone.

_One._

The air shifts in a blazing whirl of white, and black lightning flickers into a maelstrom of sable-edged reiatsu.

_Go._

A gigantic concussion rips open the air as both Rukia and Ichigo tear into the sky, shaking the ground with the pure force of their tandem liftoff and dazing a hundred rookies in an instant. The sky is immediately split into white and black, a beautiful conflagration of power that arcs over the heavens like rippled silk. It is made all the more glorious by the shafts of sunlight that pierce through the reiatsu currents, turning white into silver and black into smooth bronze. A masterpiece of opposites, of contrasts, of perfect balance.

High above Seireitei, where the buildings and shinigami are but matchsticks and dots, touching the base of the windswept clouds, touched warm and golden by the midday light, Ichigo revels in the wind running through his hair and tugging at his lips, pulling them up into a grin. Zangetsu seems alive in his hand, glowing in a bright river of reiatsu.

And beside him, some ways off, training ice and fire and frost, crown resplendent and shining upon her hair, is Rukia, violet eyes smiling. Her small form is like a leaf in the wind, and she dances like an angel on air.

By an unsaid whim, they deviate towards each other, drawing closer and closer as their reiatsus battle for dominance in the jetstream behind them, until they are almost shoulder to shoulder, and she can see the gold flecks in his warm brown irises, and he can see the beautiful shades of lavender and lilac in hers.

Ichigo reaches out a hand. At almost the same moment, Rukia reaches out also. For an instant, their fingertips dance a hairsbreadth from each other, then her small hand latches to his, a gentle warmth in the cold of winter. They pass over the Kuchiki household at a glance, and the scent of that winter's first plum blossoms drift up to them on a column of air.

It is here, adrift between the heavens above and Seireitei below, that Ichigo finally has a profound realisation. He would have thought that loving Rukia would make their relationship…_different_. That something between them would change, would become altered.

Nothing has.

They are still baka and midget, taichou and fukutaichou. Best friend and best friend.

_Perhaps it will be like that forever._

Ichigo smiles then, wordless, and across from him, Rukia smiles back. Their joined hands hold tightly, and as their reiatsus trace magnificently over the sky, the scent of the plum blossoms trail the cold winter air after them.

* * *

**And that's that. Done up and finished. Hope you enjoyed the journey, and see you guys around! I'll try to reply to reviews the best I can between my work :) **

**Love, Waffles Risa~ :)**


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